#and peachs voice is SO stilted and like

[samarecharm]

I know that peach game is like. For kids. Im SO aware of it. But its. So fucking cheap???? This is like the bloatware of nintendo games. What is going on here ???? Not to give nintendo even an ounce of credit…but they generally treat their main characters better than this. And especially after seeing mario wonder, its really obvious how poorly put together and boring this game is. Which is such a shame. Bc Super Princess Peach is right there. Go play that instead.

[littlemisslipbalm]

Keeping Up With You

Josh Kiszka x gn!reader

Summary: “Mornings are meant to be spent with you,” Josh blurts out, nerves obvious in his voice. “Soft rock music playing while I bestow a thousand kisses across your body.” 

Or

A coming back together story

A/N: FLLUFFIEST AND ANGSIEST writing to date. The premise of this fic follows along the lyrics of tommy’s party by peach pit. One of my favorite songs so you should go listen as soon as possible.

Word Count: 8.9k | Warnings: breakup angst, alcohol consumption and weed consumption, swearing probably, ANGST and Happy Ending!

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You were running late. Not for anyone’s fault but your own. You didn’t want to go to Sam’s party, and yet, out of obligation or something like spite, you were dragging yourself there. You loved him and you loved all your friends that you were bound to see, but there was a nagging sense in your stomach that you were going to regret the entire night. 

Maybe it was for liquid courage that you cracked a hard kombucha while you had gotten ready and then took a few (three) shots before stumbling out of your front door to the uber you had called half an hour after the start time of the party that was across town. Sam, like all the rich people in your life, chose to live in the nicest part of town and you couldn’t fault him even if it meant your uber cost an extra 10 dollars for the longer drive than if he had his party at a bar downtown like any civilized adult. 

Walking into the party felt kind of like walking back into high school. Out of place somewhere you already didn’t want to be, searching for a lifeline. You saw the one person you’d probably know the best immediately upon entering. Sam was by the door, yammering about how the house needed more lights to the three unwilling participants in his drunken house tour. You called his name, getting his attention before getting pulled into a sloppy hug. You grinned and yelled over the bass-heavy rock “Happy Birthday, dude!” 

Sam grinned back and yelled that there were drinks in the kitchen and to PLEASE help yourself. You bit your lip and gave two thumbs up to him and the people in his little entourage, before slipping past them to his kitchen, where you planned to help yourself, heavily. 

There were more hard kombuchas sprawled across the countertop that were calling your name until a bottle of semi-decent-looking whiskey tucked in the back of the array of alcohol caught your eye. Scrawled messily across the label in black sharpie was the claim “JAKE’S” and you chuckled to yourself before pouring a double shot of it into the compostable disposable cup you had picked up from the stack at the far end of the counter. If it came to blows with that particular Kiszka, you knew you could take him. 

You added in some root beer to the whiskey after checking that no one was around to see it and gulped at the drink, a little spilling down your chin with the amount of vigor you had used. You needed the alcohol haze on your mind to get heavier before you could face anything more at this party. The lights were dim and the music was thumping, people were talking loudly and laughing louder and you felt impossibly alone. And anxious. 

The unknown hand that descended on your shoulder didn’t help the anxiety, but managed to placate the lonliness. You jumped, sloshing a little bit of your drink before whipping around to scold the owner of said hand. 

“You swipe from my whiskey business, trouble?” Jake inquired with an arched brow. 

Your eyes were wide on his face, before glancing down at your cup and back up to him, a bite of your lip overtaking your face. Guilt. 

Jake’s usual casual smirk that he sported in situations where he was comfortable morphed into a grin. There was a tinge of sadness in his face, but he hoped the smile masked it enough. “Oh, c’mon, you know you can always take from my private collection. You’re the only one who can stomach it besides me, anyway.” He pulls you into a side-hug that is stilted but attempting to be comforting. “Wouldn’t have left it out if I didn’t want you to have some.” 

You tried for a smile and took a sip. He’d left it out, hoping you would show. “Thanks, Jake. Your handwriting is atrocious, by the way.” 

Jake’s smirk returns as he chuckles, his hair falling forward from behind his shoulders. It’s gotten long again since you’d last seen him. You didn’t want to think about the last time you’d seen him. Your eyes cast anxiously to the two entrances to the kitchen, searching and double-checking that no one else had come through the doors to surprise you. 

Jake notices and leans into the countertop with his hip. “I was just about to go light up? Care to join?” He lifts up the joint she hadn’t noticed in his hand before. 

“I don’t know…” You start, unsure why you would decline a chance to be away from the crowd already. Maybe how Jake was staring at you, the way he terribly hid his concern for you. Would he try to ask you how you were really? Weed always made him more earnest. But weed could help you, so long as you kept Jake away from certain talking points. All this going through your mind and what you swore was a certain head of curls pushing through the crowd at the far door of the kitchen made you say, “Uh, sure. Let’s do it.” 

Jake went to say something in the way of how pleased he was, but just a quiet squeak came out when you quickly began to move out of the kitchen and away from the approaching curls. You grabbed Jake’s hand with the joint in it by the wrist and flipped on your heel, leading him out of the kitchen door you had entered through. You weaved through the people in the hallway, towards the closed door to the side yard where the light was off. It was unlocked thankfully and you quickly felt around the exterior wall for a switch you knew was there, before the empty outdoor space was illuminated. The music was muffled once the door was shut and you sat on the measly single concrete step below the door. 

“Sam should really do something with this space,” you mumble, feeling capable of breathing and thinking and living once more. 

Jake shrugged and leaned against the wall, looking down at you and then around the empty side yard. It was an afterthought, but why did you care? He was still trying to catch his breath from the sprint you had just performed to get you out of the house in what seemed like 5 seconds flat. 

“I don’t think I’ve moved that quickly outside of a motorized vehicle in years.” Jake sighed. 

“You should get a Peloton. It’s great.” 

“I work out,” Jake says indignantly. “You just fucking flew, though.” Then he adds. “I didn’t know you had a Peloton.”  

You shuffle your feet, staring at them as they move in no particular pattern. “Yeah…it was a gift.” You cough. “It’s a great stress reliever as well as a workout machine.” 

Jake hums, a wave of realization washes over him as his eyes watch you, clumsily messing with your feet and your free hand. He doesn’t say anything else on the subject, though, and brings the joint to his lips, slipping his shiny silver zippo from his back pocket. It lights and he puffs on the filter. 

There was no breeze tonight. No stars and no moon. It was like the sky had taken the night off–which you weren’t sure was allowed. And yet, there it was, endless black. Your hand expertly took the joint from Jake’s outstretched fingers. 

“I’ve been on a T-break for the last few months,” you say when you hand back the joint. 

Jake raises a brow again as he begins to puff on it again. 

“Well, I said I quit, but here I am getting high, so it must’ve been a T-break.” 

Jake chuckles and coughs a little on the smoke that catches in his throat from his laughter. You grimace in silent apology, accepting the joint back. Jake asks one single question for the remainder of the joint and for that you are grateful, even if it’s one of the worst questions he could’ve asked. After he asks it, he’ll leave you alone, but it’s killing him not to know. Or at least, try to know. You had been such a good friend to him and he missed having you around lately. He knew he couldn’t say that though. It wasn’t his place, but still one measly question couldn’t hurt. 

He was lucky you were feeling so light and airy from the weed when he asked. If he had tried the question when you had first arrived or when he found you in the kitchen, you’re pretty sure you would’ve turned tail and run home crying. 

“How are you really doing?” He inquires. 

“I’m really high.” You laugh. 

Jake sits beside you and turns his head, holding the joint out to the ground for ash to fall and the weed to burn with no lips around it to inhale the smoke. He says your name once and you know he’s serious. 

You sigh and stick your legs out straight in front of you, your skirt flattens across your thighs nicely but you smooth your hands across it anyway and then grab at your drink beside you to take a sip. It’s almost empty. You look in his eyes for a moment and there’s that sadness and concern again. 

“Did not want to come.” You say and Jake nods. “Came. For Sam.” You clarify and Jake nods again. “I know I’ll see him eventually. It’s fine. I’m fine.” 

Jake nods and pats a hand gingerly on your shoulder and you grimace at your lap. He was trying so hard to navigate a difficult situation and you admired his courage. 

“Thank you, Jake. For the smoke.” You say and pause, mustering your courage to just blurt it out. You stare at the wooden fence across from you. “And for being my friend, still. You’re a good guy.” 

Jake shakes his head and pokes out the joint, not interested in smoking it anymore. “And you are too. A good friend…who deserves happiness.” 

Your lips spread into a smile and you look at Jake in the eye for a moment before knocking your forehead against his own shoulder. Something you always appreciated about Jake was his ability to understand non-verbal communication. He allowed you to do that and understand it was you thanking him. Even if you couldn’t say more on the topic. He knew. 

Jake blew out a breath after a moment, “Jesus, fuck, I’m high as shit.” 

You giggle and it feels louder and sillier than anything you’d done all night. Oh fuck. “Yeah. I think I am too. Good stuff.” 

“Josh’s,” Jake mumbles, moving to crawl back to standing, he needed water. “Sorry.” He mumbled with widened eyes when he realized the word, the name, that had left his mouth. 

You roll your eyes and hold your arms out for Jake to help you stand. “He’s not some super-villain. Just my ex and your twin. You can say his name.” 

Your eyes matched Jake’s red and droopy eyes as you stared at each other once he brought you to standing, both of you taking in each other’s state. It’s tense and quiet, the thumping music heavy at the door. 

You keep your hands in Jake’s, enjoying his warm caloused hands. So much like someone else’s, yet so different. “Do we have to go back in?” 

“I mean…” Jake looked down his nose at you. His voice dropped lower to a raspy almost-whisper. “We should probably go back. Right?”

You smile lazily at Jake and then drop his eye contact, looking at your feet, how close the two of you were standing, and then taking a step back. He was giving you the option, but you both knew there was only one right answer. 

“Back inside it is.” You add a laugh to try to not sound too bleak. “To face the gallows.” 

“I still think you’d make it as a comedian, trouble,” Jake adds. 

The tension dissipates. Whatever crack in the wall that was there, a tiny possibility that could’ve grown if you wanted, was patched over and covered. Forgotten. You and Jake were friends. A lot of shared history and a lot of understanding, but it was better this way. 

“My one man show,” you say, shaking off the memories of when it was a duo act. You and Josh loved a good bit and would drag them out as long as you could, staying in character for entire nights out or, once, an entire week during a family vacation. “I’m good, man.” You reassure Jake when he looks at you concerned again, with his hand on the door handle. 

The music grows louder but is more muffled than before as the weed and alcohol successfully contain you in their all consuming bubble. You were thankful for the moment to gather yourself and to remind you that facing Josh might not be all that horrible. You could do anything when stoned, this was something you truly believed especially when the high was in its starting area, when you were first plunged into the strange warm fuzzy place in your brain. 

Jake’s hand on your back pushed you through the crowd and you heard the words “refill” and “water” leave his lips so you began to wander towards the kitchen again. Once back, you’re mildly disappointed to see it’s not empty. It’s not crowded, there’s just three other small groups of twos and threes getting refills or lingering after having gotten their refills. The night was progressing, meaning more inebriation caused more plans to be forgotten half way through. Expert missions of moving from one area of the house to the next were abandoned when the roadmaps slipped from the de facto leader of the small groups’ brain when they had another sip of their drink of choice. You knew because you used to come to parties like these with groups.

Now you were a lone shark, or maybe just the remora to Jake’s lone shark, attaching yourself to him, just along for the ride as he made the decisions. He expertly slipped past the huddled groups without interactions, just nods of chin and his smirk. You noticed some of the whispers and shared looks from some of the people in those groups as you passed by, but chose to believe they were about how handsome and mysterious Jake was and not how you were with him. 

Jake looked between the faucet and the cups he had forgotten were at the end of the counter, debating whether he would go back for one or not. Shaking his head after a moment of weighted silence, he opened the cupboard to the right of the sink and grabbed one of Sam’s precious souvenir pint glasses and filled it with water. You watched in mild awe that Jake did not fear his little brother’s annoying nagging if caught and desire for water to touch your cotton-mouth-y, well, mouth. 

Jake stuck the glass under the faucet again and refilled it before holding it out towards you and you smiled. Accepting the glass, you turned it in your hand, observing the etching of Snoopy and Woodstock dressed as chefs holding a gigantic sandwich with the word ‘Philadelphia’ in red bold letters above them. Sam was weird, but you respected his collection. You’d even gifted him a ‘San Francisco’ one for Christmas a couple years ago with Snoopy and the Peanuts dressed up for a Giants game. 

You sipped at the water and let it wash into the various pockets of your mouth before swallowing, humming in satisfaction. “Good stuff.” You repeated.

“Only the best.” Jake responds. “Whiskey time?” 

He doesn’t wait for your answer since you're drinking more of the water. He picks up your abandoned cup and his own and snatches his whiskey from behind the more popular liquors: grey goose vodka in multiple flavors besides the classic, a few okay gins and tequila–tons of it. 

You take the cup filled with whiskey straight and you grimace. You weren’t in the mood to drink much more, feeling plenty fucked up, and you definitely weren’t in the mood to stomach whiskey on its own. You do an obligatory cheers motion with Jake and pretend to take a sip. 

“I forgot to tell you,” Jake suddenly says with a burst of energy and you widen your eyes, startled. “We’re doing a set later.” 

“What?” 

“Sam wants to, for his birthday. Have a jam sesh.” Jake shrugs and slips his phone out of his coat pocket, checking the time. “Honestly should probably check the setup, make sure no one trampled the gear. C’mon.” 

You would think professional musicians would want a break from their job for their birthdays, but these guys loved it so much it was hard to keep them away. Plus, knowing Sam, he’d probably insisted on choosing the set list, making Jake and Josh take a reluctant backseat to what they would play. Were you intrigued? Yes. Completely and utterly apprehensive to watch Josh perform? Double yes.

You followed Jake out of the kitchen and through the bodies in the living room towards the open French doors leading to the patio and backyard. Sam had a temporary stage set up at the back of the yard that no one was standing on or messing with besides Danny who was checking his drum kit was okay already. Everything on the stage was secondary personal stuff, none of it their expensive favorites, but it still wouldn’t be great if any of it got wrecked. 

A boisterous and booming laugh took your eyes off of Danny and made you fall out of step with Jake. Right beside the stage was Josh, grin plastered across his face and beer can sloshing haphazardly as he swung his arms wide as he regaled his small group with a big important story he dramatized to be even grander than it had been. 

Your eyes scanned the group surrounding him, focusing hard to make out the faces in the dim light as you tried to keep walking, following blindly behind Jake who was pausing at the edge of the stage on the opposite end from Josh. You swallow hard and debate taking another sip of the whiskey, but decide it won’t help. Your legs finally bring you to standing awkwardly beside, but slightly behind, Jake as he talks with Danny. You positioned yourself to be slightly in Jake’s shadow unintentionally. 

Danny greets you and your eyes flicker to him for a moment before returning to Josh, just a few feet from you now, but he still hasn’t seen you. You mumble a ‘hi’ and Jake explains for you that you were likely on a different planet from the joint you had shared. You nodded perfunctorily and then stuck your cup into Jake’s chest. 

“I can’t drink this,” you say, barely above a whisper, still watching Josh. 

He was winding down from the story, you could tell. His audience was enraptured, with one particular girl close by his side that you didn’t recognize. She was grinning, shiny and bright as she watched Josh in all his inebriated glory. In his element. Entertaining. It was magic to be so close to him in those moments, how it felt spiritual when he caught your eye inches away. How his teeth seemed to smile just for you when he placed his hand on your shoulder. 

And there it was. Josh rested his arm around the beautiful girl’s shoulders, palm pressing her closer to him as he laughed and grinned. She smiled at him and you swore you saw him wink. It was drunken and dopey, but you saw it. 

You hadn’t felt Jake take the cup from your grasp, but your hand fell to your side, now empty. Danny and Jake followed your eyeline and then met each other’s eyes and frowned a little. 

“How about you sit right here?” Jake huddled you towards a lawn chair that was close to the stage, but against the house wall so no one would bump into it. 

“So I get a front row seat to it all?” You mumble miserably. 

“Here,” Danny says, passing his hyrdroflask from behind the drum kit to Jake, who hands it to you, flipping the mouthpiece open and instructing you to drink. 

You should’ve left once you could feel your legs again, but you couldn’t stop staring. Thankfully, Josh hadn’t noticed. You probably would’ve died on the spot if he had caught your intense eye. Instead he gives the girl a squeeze and mumbles something into her ear. She laughs loudly and stumbles on her feet a little as she steps back from him. Josh turns towards the stage and clambers onto the top of it. If it wasn’t clear to you before, his lack of agility cemented it. He was close to belligerent, but holding himself together well. 

It would be laughable when he almost tilts over right after he’s stood upright finally, but you’re not the person who can find that funny anymore without seeming cruel. Instead, you decide to take a sip of Danny’s water and shut your eyes, tilting your head back against the wall, hoping to ride out the rest of this night in a strange detached state. If no one spoke to you for the rest of the night you would be happy. 

You willed away the disparate images passing behind your shut eyelids. A different reality your mind had conjured up specifically to torture you it seemed. Where you were beside Josh just then and the two of you had tumbled up onto the stage. First you guide his hips up and then he pulls you up after him, the pair of you happily and drunkenly falling over one another, tangling yourselves up into a few cables in the process. You two were laughing through it all and then Josh would stop and smile the smile that was just for you, a special gleam of love in his eyes you’d grown used to. He’d cup your cheeks between his palms and pull your face to his, a big blistering kiss bestowed upon your lips quieting your own laughter. It would lead you to falling deeper into love with the man who really saw you and forgetting where you were. And then the boys would holler at the pair of you and you’d hide your face in Josh’s jacket before he’d help you up, with a pat to your bum before you inevitably made it back to the seat you were in now. 

No. Now there was only this chair. And a borrowed water bottle to touch your lips. Fuck. You moved your mind to your escape plan. 

The music would start soon anyway and then you could probably slip out to call an uber after a few songs. You heard Sam join the rest of the band on the wooden stage a few minutes later, his long legs thumping as he jumped up onto the stage and his drunken voice louder and whinier as he asked Danny to check his bass for him, since he was the birthday boy. 

You peek out of one eye, too amused to miss the visuals of this exchange and see Danny shaking his head and muttering under his breath as he picks up Sam’s bass. Sam is smiling triumphantly with his hands on his hips, tapping his foot impatiently like the prince he was. Then your eyes slide to the right and see Jake and Josh huddled around Jake’s amp. 

Just close your eyes. But you can’t. 

Josh is all antsy. He’s waving his hands about and rocking Jake’s shoulders. Jake’s murmuring words below his breath trying to placate whatever situation his twin seems to be troubled by. You know it’s wrong to strain your ears to hear the conversation but you can’t help it. 

“…just aren’t really my thing.” You catch the end of Josh’s slurred sentence. He’s still grinning as he complains.

Jake shakes his head. “They’re Sam’s thing since it’s Sam’s birthday.”

“I know we agreed to it but can’t we just, I don’t know, not?” 

Jake laughed a little and tried to hide it with a cough, his eyes sliding to you for a quick moment. “Josh, it’s like 5 songs.”

“I’m slammed, man,” Josh stumbles on his footing, adding to his case accidentally.

“Just sing the choruses and then hit some high notes. He wants to jam anyway, you’re not on frontman duty tonight.” 

“Oh please, Jake. I’m always on frontman—“ Josh’s train of thought runs off the tracks when his eyes finally catch yours. 

You freeze. You weren’t moving anyway but you freeze all the same. Blood runs cold. Spine rigid. You don’t know how to breathe and you were right. You are going to die. 

Josh is frozen too and Jake watches it unfold. Both of your faces were completely open with the pain. You could see it around the eyebrows and the lips and how it swelled through the irises of your eyes as you looked at one another. 

Someone smashing a beer can followed by the electric thrum of a bassline makes you bring your free hand up in the air. It’s supposed to be a wave as it travels to the height of your head and then loses momentum, pausing for a moment as Josh’s eyes flicker to the movement before it falls again. 

You drop your gaze to your lap while Josh stays on you. His similarly intense gaze burns you. He wants to come talk to you even though he has absolutely no idea what he’d say to you anyway. His feet even begin to lurch towards the end of the stage nearest you, but Jake pulls him back. 

That succession of chords on Sam’s bass was his signal that he wanted to get the jam session started. It was followed by a verbal announcement from the birthday boy as well.

“Everyone come outside now. It’s time to hear me play sweet sweet music for you.” Sam says into the mic before handing it off to Josh.

Josh looks over at you one more time but you make sure your eyes are anywhere else on the stage but his face. He licks his lips and swaggers to center stage. 

“Friends and family, loved and loathed ones, day trippers and moonbeam chasers,” Josh pauses for the roar of the crowd. Smaller than their concerts, obviously, but still spirited for the size of this party. “What a glorious fucking night to celebrate the birth of the youngest Kiszka.” 

Maybe Danny expected Josh to say more because there’s a pause before the drum kicks in. Josh turns on his heel to face Danny and signals him to start. Danny counts them in and Jake walks them into a perfect cover of “The Lemon Song.” 

Josh hated doing Led Zeppelin covers but Sam loved the bassline on this song. He’d been obsessed with it when he first started playing and Jake enjoyed the guitar on it too. So here Josh was, proving every critic correct that he could sound just like Robert Plant. Jake shredded away on Jimmy’s solo chords and then lowered his amp for an extended moment to give Sam a proper bass solo. And Josh admittedly got into the song, feeling the vibrations through his chest, getting lost on stage. 

They transitioned straight into “Cold Cold Cold” and “Feel Good Inc.” Both with heavy basslines. Josh liked these two because he got to use his tambourine in the first and had few words in the second. He also skipped a lot of the words in the songs, not knowing them, but holding the microphone towards the crowd, telling them to sing along when it was the chorus or popular parts of them. 

Then they took a break. Normally Josh might joke around. Tell a story about Sam when he was a weird little kid. Instead, he just took a swig from his beer beside the unutilized mic stand and talked in Jake’s ear until Sam signaled he was ready to continue. He had moved to the keyboard he had also brought out for the evening. 

“This one’s a little on the nose but, hey, what little bro wants, little bro gets.” 

Josh started singing the first verse of “I’m going to be a teenage idol” and you grimaced. You loved Elton John and if you thought more highly of yourself you would’ve thought Josh’s reluctance to sing this song was because it reminded him of you. 

He tritely pointed to himself when he sang “it kind of makes me feel like a rock and roll star.” He paced around the stage, continuously sweeping his hands towards Sam as he expertly played the hard keys for the song. He sipped at his beer and belted one of the later verses with a passion that masked what you knew was sadness. Josh was a professional, so he knew how to keep his shit together even when he was drunk, but he wanted off this stage and you knew it. 

Then the song ended. Your eyes watching Josh’s demeanor shift. “Thankfully this one isn’t…or is it?” 

“Psycho Killer” started up and you couldn’t help the laugh that came past your lips. You pressed your hand to your mouth, feeling like you were betraying yourself. Josh hadn’t looked your way since they had started but somehow either his trained ear heard that or he had some psychic sense, because he stared at you again, faltering on the classic song’s lyrics. 

Given the conversation you eavesdropped on, you weren’t sure if they had planned to play “Happiness is a Warm Gun” but they transitioned into it seamlessly from the last so they didn’t stop and Josh knew all the words. You two had listened to the Beatles’ white album countless times together. It was your favorite of theirs. You’d put it on all the time with Josh and he’d happily listen along, always acquiescing to your arguments about it even though he preferred Let It Be. On lazy Sunday mornings when you never got out of bed until dinner time. On the road, for tour or for road-trips you’d take together up to the cabin or little Airbnbs you’d found in cool spots. 

This wasn’t your song though and for that you were thankful. You might’ve thrown up if for some reason Sam had added that to the setlist. You might’ve found a way to time travel and kill Paul McCartney before he could add a bassline to that song if that would’ve stopped that. You’d give up the existence of that song before Josh sang it in front of a small crowd where you weren’t the one he was singing it for anymore.  

Again, your imagination was running wild tonight. Seeing Josh’s beautiful face brought back every memory you had with him. The last few years had been the best years of your life. Meaning that these past few months have been the hardest of your life. Half the time you weren’t even sure if it was life anymore.

So many memories were from nights just like tonight, but he wouldn’t be some distant figure causing building anxiety as you steal glances at one another from across the yard. You used to be the one keeping up with him, telling stories together and getting drunk to aid in your fun rather than to run away from your hangups. Stealing kisses and sneaking off to empty hallways or plain taking off early to be alone together again. 

You couldn’t help getting lost in the sound of Jake making the guitar riffs his own, the velvet of Josh’s voice and how all four of them meshed their instruments so expertly, making any song something special. Your eyes had shut and you were swaying in your seat to the music. Loving it. This piece of connection could never be severed. All your silly feelings forgotten for one blissful moment before the music came to an abrupt and cruel end. 

Sam took the mic from Josh who almost let it carelessly fall to the floor. “Thank you all for coming! Love you guys!” Sam quickly called before being pulled off the stage by his girlfriend who was eager to make out with her man. 

You grimaced. You knew how she felt. Goddamnit. 

Josh doesn’t immediately come up to you. Not that you were hoping for that. You actually were dreading the moment when you two finally spoke again. You two hadn’t had much contact since the breakup, so your last verbal conversation had been about you picking up the rest of your stuff from his place in December. Over the phone. You still had a key so you came when he was out. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sat forward, willing those memories to stay put in the locked cabinet you were never going to revisit. Leaving seemed like a good idea now. You’d paid your birthday dues, shown up and even stayed for the show. Slipping off seemed ideal. You just needed to return Danny’s water bottle to him. 

He was still at the bandstand, in front of his drum kit with Jake and another guy from their work, Brian (you think). You stood, feeling a little better but still pretty high given your major break from the drug prior to tonight. You blinked a few times, double checking that none of the guys in the small huddle transformed into Josh suddenly before you got to them. 

Jake gave you a hand up onto the stage and you thanked him, before handing Danny his water and thanking him for it as well. He reassures you that it was his pleasure and then he thanked you for leaving him water in it. He was a wonder to you and you smiled genuinely at his kindness. You missed him. You missed all of them. 

You rocked on your heels and fidgeted your hands to rest on your hips. “Well, I’m gonna head out I think. This was plenty for me and my old self.” You proclaim when the conversation lulls. 

Jake nods, not even trying to get you to stay, whereas Maybe Brian protests, saying the night was still young. Danny shoots him a look with a subtle head shake and you smile at your feet. These guys still had your back and for that you were grateful. You hugged Danny and told him to tell Sam goodbye for you in case you didn’t bump into him on your way out. As you were leaning into Jake’s warm side for the second time tonight, a voice interrupts the farewells. 

“Dan, have you seen my elf–” Josh stops talking again, eyes widening on your face. 

You don’t freeze this time, immediately dropping away from Jake. It wasn’t wrong, but you also couldn’t face Josh while touching his twin. Josh must have missed you within the group, hidden among the taller men. 

“Hey, I was just leaving,” You say, your voice quivering a little with nerves, barely aware of what you were saying. 

“Hello,” Josh slurs after a weighted moment. His eyes slid along your face and down your entire body, as if they had been starved of you since he’d last looked at you. He looks away, back to Danny. “I think, perhaps, I left it in the kitchen. Thanks Daniel.” He flips on his heel and wanders off. 

You can’t help but watch him go. It’s not your fault your eyeline is directly aligned with where the girl from earlier is positioned right next to the door to inside. Or that you catch how he pulls her back into his side and she laughs at whatever he has said just for her. It was right in front of you. What were you supposed to do? Tear your eyeballs out? Now that’s a thought. 

His bright mustard jacket eventually disappears between the various bodies and his hair is obscured by the dim lights in the house. He’s gone, laughing with her just like you two used to.

“Well, if that’s not my cue,” You let the silence that follows finish your thought for you. 

Jake apologizes for Josh and you tell him it’s not necessary. Really. It’s been five months. It was mutual. If anything it was you who initiated it. If Josh can’t speak to you or if he’s seeing someone new. That’s just fine. Fine. So fine. 

Your uber takes you home and you don’t cry. You don’t let yourself. Something possesses you in the morning to type out an email though. You’re not sure why you don’t just send a text. The email feels less personal, less intimate than a text. Less risky. And somehow more private. It was almost like sending a letter, which you used to send Josh on occasion–of course, those were love letters. 

Hey there bud… You look at the words and almost throw your computer out of the window. Bud? Bud!? You couldn’t write anything else though, anything less was too little, too strange, anything more, like his name, was too intimate, too much. 

How’d it go last night?

Your love letters used to read like poetry and you guessed this was kind of like that, but it wasn’t a love letter. You still could just save it as a draft and never send it after all. 

I saw you at the bandstand looking pretty slammed. You used the exact word Josh had described himself last night. It had been repeating in your mind all night. Did you see me feeding my drink to Jake? Probably not I guess, you were quite the mess. And that girl who tagged along there with you, I never caught her name, but she seemed fucked up too. 

You read it over and thought that it was maybe too harsh. But it was the truth. You needed to get it off your chest. He hadn’t let you talk last night so you wanted to share your night with him now even if you hadn’t gotten to last night. 

From where I sat, she looked to be havin’ fun, keeping up with you just like I used to. 

How’d it go last night? I’m sorry to have ditched out but I was pretty high. Heard from Danny that on his stumble home, Jake was puking up all the shit he’d drunk. 

Though we didn’t talk much, how’d your evening go? You barely spoke a word to me, besides that slurred “Hello”... I happened to see without even trying, how she laughed with you just like I used to. 

You were rambling, you couldn’t get it all out. But you cut yourself off. That was all you could say. So you read it over about five more times and changed a few commas and added spacing and you wondered if Josh would think you had gone off the deep end with this one. Your first form of communication with him in months. By e-mail for some reason. 

The thought of not sending it crossed your mind a few more times before you took a breath and hovered the mouse over the ‘Send’ button. Finally clicking it when you finished the exhale. You wanted him to know. 

-

When Josh woke up, close to noon with an awful hangover and an unfamiliar bed, he groaned and covered his face when the headache pounded against his skull harder. 

“Fuck my life,” he murmured. He rolled from his back to his side, his legs swinging to tether him to the carpeted floor. Where the fuck was he?

“You’re awake!” The girl popped her head in, her hair wet from the shower she had just taken. “Do you want breakfast? Or coffee?”

“Uh…” Josh stared at his feet, wiggling his toes to remind him of reality. “No, I should go home.”

She smiles, sporting her best look, as if last night hadn’t emotionally wrecked her like it had Josh. That actually made sense. “Yeah. See you again soon?” 

“Yeah. I’ll call you…” Josh reassures, beginning to put his pants on. His words were an afterthought as he pieced together last night's events. “Have fun at your ceramics class today!”

He shuffled out of the door just as she responded, towel still messing with her tips. “It’s painting!”

Josh mumbled his apologies as he walked down the street hoping that his car would pop up among the different vehicles parked on the street. He definitely hadn’t driven there after the party but maybe he had brought his car to her place beforehand. He was still working through the night. And his mind was focused on all the moments where you had popped up. 

He’d seen you disappear out of the kitchen with his brother. He’d seen you next to the bandstand a couple times and then he’d seen you when he’d drunkenly asked Danny if he’d seen his elfbar. Could he be more of an idiot? He rubbed at his pained forehead again as he looked up and down the street once more before deciding that he hadn’t driven his car to this woman’s house. 

They’d gone out on a couple of dates, set up by mutual friends that were closer with her than Josh but he was trying and he wanted to try. Even if all he really wanted to do was call you and beg you to forget about the last few months. 

Too focused on making it home and one to always dismiss his email notifications, Josh didn’t notice the message from you until he had made it home and successfully made himself a pot of coffee and had a necessary shower, leaving him in his sweatpants and curled up in his bed that used to be shared, ‘ours’. 

His phone had been charging so he unplugged it and rolled to the other side of the bed, which he still felt guilty for. Like you’d walk through the door any moment and playfully grumble at him for being a bed hog. 

Complete privacy and total boredom eventually made him check his e-mail. He might have a package coming after all, he couldn’t remember, and his headache had mostly cleared away but looming anxieties nagged at him. He couldn’t keep getting drunk and hooking up with his casual flings. It was going to catch up with him and he knew it. He just hated to admit it.

Your name on his screen was especially sobering. He had longed for it to pop up. Preferably in a phone call or text format, asking to meet up and talk over everything one more time that actually leads to you getting back together. But hey, he’d settle for an e-mail at this point. Because that is what he had received. 

He took a deep breath and allowed his hovering thumb to click down on it. It was your poem/accusation and he read it over and over double checking that it was indeed your words and not lyrics from a song or someone else. No, he recognized your voice in the words and how you phrased it. The ‘hey there bud’ made him laugh. You were so weird. He missed it. 

All the love letters were in his side table drawer still. Maybe it would’ve been healthier to move them to a box not so close to where he slept, but he couldn’t bear it. You used to post them from around town so that they could get sent to the house you both lived in. It sent him over the moon whenever he recognized your handwriting of his name on the front of a piece of mail and you’d giggle behind your cup of coffee, slyly slinking off to let him read it in private. 

After he’d finish reading, he’d wander the house until he found you and press kisses all over your face while he repeated confessions of love, over and over while you shrieked and laughed at his attack of love.  

This e-mail made him sad, but also hopeful. He was going to reply. 

Hey there…How’d last night go for you? I know when I saw you at the bandstand, I said I was slammed to Jake. Did you overhear or is that just some strange coincidence? I probably should’ve given some of my drinks away. I was quite the mess, you’re right. 

And the girl…she’s a part of the mistakes I’ve been making since the break up. I’m sorry you had to see that. And I’m sorry all I said was Hello. I didn’t know what to say…as you could probably tell. Josh smiled down at his phone, your eyes had been so wide with surprise upon seeing him up so close. The look on your face had been a dagger to his heart, twisting deeper when you said you were heading out. 

I was thinking back just the other day, remember when we used to sneak out late to go and blaze after everyone else at the party had gone home or passed out? 

Seems like loneliness is all we’ll ever do now. At least for me. Maybe you weren’t lonely, I don’t want to assume. I was surrounded by people all night, these past four months too, and I’ve never felt more alone. 

I’m glad you messaged me. I’m sorry I didn’t do it first. He wondered if he should add the next piece. Was it wrong? Should he leave it at that. The stabbing pain in his chest returned and he wanted to be brave for you. Just for the chance, you could shoot him down but he’d know that he’d tried. I’ve been going to a new coffee place downtown. Northside CoffeeHouse. I think you’d like it. They make the cinnamon rolls just the way you like. 

Josh swallowed hard and sent the email before he could think too hard about it. He hoped he wasn’t being presumptuous that you would remember his routine. Coffee out on weekends usually between 9 and 10. 

You read over the email that came through from Josh a few times. His mention of loneliness made your heart sink, you hated to think of Josh carrying a pain like yours. The thought kind of hurt more than your own heartbreak. 

You knew what he was saying with his mention of the coffeeshop. Tomorrow he’d probably be there if you went when he used to. Josh was secretly a creature of habit despite advocating for chaos most of the time. 

Josh arrived at Northside at 9 am sharp, just in case you came on the early side. He patiently waited in the line for coffee and took a seat by the window. He checked his phone every few minutes, confused why time suddenly moved so slow. 

He remembered the first coffee date you had gone on with him. You both had been late so he should’ve known then that you were the one for him. He showed up twenty minutes late (ten by accident and then an extra ten getting apology flowers) and you ran in five minutes later, out of breath, apologizing that you were so late. Josh was overjoyed to tell you he’d also been late and was so extremely worried about you not being there when he’d arrive. He picked up the flowers on the table and handed them to you, shyly explaining he’d gotten extra late grabbing these and you’d laughed, glancing between the plants and the strangely bashful guy in front of you. You’d been hooked ever since. 

You had been introduced to Josh when you had gotten invited to tagalong with a work friend to a VIP section of a concert series in Nashville. Josh and his brothers had been there and somehow your friend had run into them a few times at stuff like this. You hadn’t initially realized Josh was hitting on you as you talked the evening away with him about all things music and your very different jobs so you were surprised when he asked you out on the coffee date, but you hadn’t declined. Afterall, he was Josh. 

The rest, as they say, is history. Much to your chagrin. You replayed that first date over and over as you paced up and down the cross street for the coffee shop you assumed Josh was now waiting for you at. 

With a single white Peruvian lily clutched in your hand, you finally turned the corner and marched yourself into the coffee shop. You didn’t look in the windows, you were too focused on getting yourself through the door so you had to look around the room for Josh after entering. Your hand was holding so tightly to the flower’s stem you worried you’d break it if you didn’t set it down soon.  

His back was facing you, he’d been looking down the other side of the street and had no idea you’d entered as he was beginning to resign himself to the fact that maybe you didn’t want to see him. It was almost 10 am when you arrived. 

“Josh,” you sigh, hand touching his shoulder as you turn to face them. 

He looks up and the smile on his face almost brings tears to your eyes. It’s the one you’ve missed so much. You can’t help the frown that it brings to your face as you will away the tears. 

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” Josh says, standing to hug you because he knew your facial expressions by heart too. 

You laugh and the stem in your hand finally snaps at his touch. It’s too much. Josh pulls back and looks down at your hand and laughs for a different reason. He motions to the table and your eyes sweep the two empty coffee cups he must have drank waiting for you, his phone and a bouquet of the very same flower, just like the ones he’d given you three and a half years ago. 

“Can I go order you something?” Josh asks softly. “I didn’t want to order the cinnamon roll until you got here. I wanted it to still be warm.” 

You bite your lip. He was still so sweet and thoughtful. You laugh again and nod your head. He knew you needed a moment to ground yourself so he let you have some time to yourself. He walked to the counter and ordered what you always got and a cinnamon roll to share. 

You placed your broken flower with his bouquet, your hands ran gently over the pearly petals, careful not to cause any dents or creases. After studying them, you feel a little less overwhelmed and you lift your head to watch Josh. He’s paying with cash and you’re endeared how he still clumsily handles the coins despite how often he likes to pay with physical money. 

He thanks the barista who was now very accustomed to Josh, considering it was his third time up at the counter in the last hour. You smile sheepishly at Josh as he smooths his palms down his khakis, coming back to you. 

Your conversation is stilted while he waits for his name to be called. He doesn’t want to get into the nitty gritty when he knows there’s an impending interupter. You thank him for the flowers and apologize for your broken attempt. 

He smiles down at the baker's dozen of flowers. “I like it. Here.” His fingers delicately move the broken pieces back into place and then moves your single flower into the center of the bouquet. “It’s all patched up now.” 

You smile and meet his eyes, knowing the Josh metaphor he was trying to obviously make. His name is called saving you from saying more on the subject for the moment. He hands you your drink and places one fork facing you and one facing him on the edge of the cinnamon roll’s box. You thank him again and he hushes you, saying you didn’t need to keep thanking him. 

You quiet as you try the treat. Josh watches your reaction with barely contained glee, knowing you’d loved it. You had missed this feeling. This feeling of someone knowing you so well. How Josh took care of you and how, in return, you took care of him. You grinned, reassuring him that yes it was great. 

You quiet down again about the food. Josh and you smile at one another and it feels like nothing has changed. You want to believe it. 

“Mornings are meant to be spent with you,” Josh blurts out, nerves obvious in his voice. “Soft rock music playing while I bestow a thousand kisses across your body.” 

“There’s the Josh I know,” you tease but you’re beaming at him. 

Flashes of the mornings he was referencing came to mind. 

Josh curled around you or you curled around Josh, Velvet Underground and Grateful Dead records on. Sunlight filtering across the floral sheets you’d bought for him as a welcome back from tour present after Dreams in Gold. Smooth skin against skin as Josh presses kisses to your forehead and yours against his sternum. He’s laughing when you tickle him and you laugh too, happy to be keeping up with him. Just like you used to. 

-

lmk what you think!

taglist: @ofthecaravel @malany-gvf @whiterosekiszka @jaketlove @sinarainbows @gretavanfreaky

[antheiasvase]

Andreil says the big L ;)

ALSO POSTED ON AO3!! (link below)

It's quiet. It's always quiet these days. So serene it's almost sickening, like an unfinished peach pit sinking slow to the bottom of his stomach. 

He stares out of the rain soaked window, book dipping downwards in his lazy hands. His fingers itch for something to do, picking at the pages, flicking at his fraying sweater, teasing at the tags of his cushions. 

He's restless, he knows. He's waiting. For something, anything. A declaration, a speech, a symphony. Just something. He's tired of the known. So used to spending his days in a haze, the clarity of his mind leaves him dizzy and desperate for anything to dull down his nerves. 

His phone begins to ring, an annoying screeching sound playing the chorus of Lover, You Should've Come Over, in an awkward stilted way. He knows who it is, he remembers when they had painstakingly figured out how to program it, the phone clunky an awkward in his bandaged hands. Andrew had laughed then, a small huff, when he had excitedly called him, so pleased, like the cat who got the cream, when he had finally figured it out. 

That was before all the travelling, the distance, the gap that felt unreachable between two souls which had once known each other so deeply but now could barely stand to speak a few words before descending swiftly into silence. 

Despite knowing how this conversation would go, Andrew still reached out, still desperate to hear his voice, desperate for his laugh, desperate for the minute escape from the sickening quiet of his empty apartment, desperate for the comforting silence from his lover. 

He couldn't do without it. 

"Neil," He breathed when he picked up, clutching the phone in both hands. 

He heard the hitched breath on the other line, before they spoke, "Andrew," He whispered, he sounded like he was hunched over the the phone. Andrew could imagine him, curled close, under his covers which were pulled over his crimson curls, providing a cocoon of privacy for their conversation. 

"I've missed you," Neil said, he sounded quiet, oh so quiet. A whisper on the breeze of life. 

"As you should," Andrew lightly teased, immediately regretting the words as they slipped, unprompted from his tongue, wishing he could swallow them back and replace them with something much sweeter, dripping, 'I missed you too,'s like syrup from his lips. 

Syrup slow, and tense silence expanded and made herself comfortable following his comment. 

Neil hesitated, but laughed softly, despite this Andrew could hear him swallow. Andrew wished he could see him, he could always read his expression, and understand, but over the phone, it was as if a brick wall had been built up slowly between the two, and despite his shattered bones and bruised knuckles, Andrew wasn't able to punch through the wall. 

Andrew cleared his throat, "I do too. Miss you. That is," It sounded awkward and uncomfortable, and mentally Andrew berated himself. 

"I know that," Neil said, this time, Andrew could detect some form of pleasure in his tone, pleased that Andrew missed him too, as if Andrew could not miss him. Andrew missed him in every moment apart, every breath he breathed that was not mingled with Neil's own exhaled sigh, every cigarette he smoked not lit by Neil's spare lighter, every exy game he couldn't look to Neil and smile triumphantly as Neil cheered at their win. 

"You should," Andrew said, softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper. He heard Neil move slightly on the other side of the call, as if he flipped onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

"Yeah," Neil muttered back, and Andrew clenched his eyes shut, so tight spots danced like every memory he has ever had with Neil in his vision. They flitted through his brain like a slideshow, up until when Andrew left for the true adult life of taxes and jobs and the slide show slowed to split seconds, stolen at airports, mere hours in between practices, budget airlines, and clenched fists on arm rests.

"I-" Neil faltered, and sighed, "Never-mind,"

Andrew picked up where he left the tentative attempt at a conversation, "How was practice?" While he loathed exy, in its every inexcusable shape and form, it was safe. A blanket that Neil could cover himself with and talk about till even he tired from the topic.

He could feel Neil grin, "It was good, uh, the newer kids are still shy, surprisingly, a few stand out but most are quite secluded. It's just me and Robin left, from the old foxes you know, and we're keeping the team together quite splendidly, I think Robin is a little sad, considering the year is almost over for me, but Wymack told me that he's officially upgrading her to Team Captain next year. I thought it was obvious, but he said, considering Robin's character, he figured she'd prefer some official confirmation," Neil rambled.

"He would be right," Andrew interjected, he leaned onto the couch, arm resting on the back.

"I suppose," Neil said, "Either way, there's nothing really interesting going on here, preparing for the finals, and such."

"You prepared well?" Andrew asked, toying once again with a thread from his top.

"Somewhat, we'll see how it goes. It's not like I'll do anything with this degree so I'm not all too worried,"

"Been scouted yet?" Andrew said, he could feel the mood slip slightly in the call, but he bit his lip and waited for Neil's answer.

"A few offers, here and there," Neil said vaguely, "I'm going out to check out a potential team in the weekend. I'm not sure yet, but it might be it,"

Andrew felt a tightness begin to coil at the base of his ribs. He could already see how it would play out, Neil would move, far and far and farther away and soon the phone calls will dwindle to a text every two weeks.

"That's good," Andrew muttered, clenching his fist tightly around a poor defenceless cushion.

"Yes," Neil said, somewhat hesitantly, "It's good,"

Silence fell once again. As expected.

"Neil-" Andrew began to say.

"I have to go," Neil suddenly interrupted, "I just heard a crash from Robin's room," The phone call ended, abruptly and on time with the dread that poured out of every pore in Andrew's body.

⭐️

Saturday practices were the worst, Andrew determined as he trudged across the field, heading back to the locker rooms. He felt disgusting, sweaty and gross, the strikers had been eager to prove themselves, some rumours had been circulating about upcoming transfers in the next season and as it was already confirmed that one of their senior strikers was retiring, the subs were desperate to show that they were ready to take on the tasking position.

Andrew wished they had gone a little easier. He hadn't slept since Neil and his call, and he'd been too apprehensive to call back afterwards. His whole body felt muted, and slow, like a mound of rotting flesh piled on top of his cracking and badly taped together skeleton. He sighed. He did that a lot lately.

"Minyard," He heard their coach call out to him, "Join me in my office for a second," For a moment Andrew considered turning away and going to shower instead, but in a rare display of obedience he found himself walking towards their coach's office. She was a harsh woman, with an even harsher last name to fit the bill, Coach Sauvage, Neil had thought it hilarious when Andrew first told him, as he stumbled over the pronunciation. She was half French and tended to cuss her team out in the vicious language when they pissed her off with their idiocy.

Andrew stepped in, glad for the air-conditioning, it was boiling hot outside. She sat down at her desk, her hands folded neatly over one another, and she pointed her fierce look upon him.

"You may sit," She said gesturing to the plastic chair across her desk. Andrew sat and began unstrapping his protective gear and dropping it to the floor as she began to speak.

"As you know, Richie is retiring out this season, and the role will be filled with one of the strikers we have, however this will leave an empty place in our striker roster. I was more interested in having some new blood contracted, rather than transfer in a more experienced player. However, in this special case, I felt it was more important to speak with you first." She paused and stared at him.

Andrew stared back, thinking about the relieving shower he would have after this dull conversation was over. "How exactly does this pertain to me?" He asked, she seemed amused at his question.

"I'm thinking of contracting Neil Josten, an old teammate of yours from college." She said. Andrew sat up a tad straighter, his eyes slightly wide. He thought back to his conversation with Neil,

I'm going out to check out a potential team in the weekend. I'm not sure yet, but it might be it.

"I know you two had some sort of rivalry back in college, so I need to know if this will or won't mess up the climate in the team. So far you've adjusted well, and I was hoping we could keep you for a while longer. That's why I first wanted to make sure you were okay with this. I would like to remind you however, you should perceive this as more of a fore-warning as it is very unlikely, unless under some extreme circumstance, that my mind will be changed if you happen to make an argument as to why he should not join the team," She said.

"He's here?" Andrew said instead,

"He arrived a few hours ago to watch practice, as it is most likely he will be signed I wanted him to meet the team,"

Andrew stood, abandoning his gear and rushing out of the office, he heard some loud conversation coming from the locker rooms and headed that way, knowing that Neil would most likely be there.

He banged open the door, and there he was. He was standing by the benches, speaking with Richie the retiring striker.

"Josten," He said, he knew he stumbled over the word in his rush to get Neil to notice him. He felt a light flush rise to his ears.

"Andrew," Neil said, taking a few steps towards him. Andrew met him halfway, and in front of the eyes of his entire team he pulled Neil, his Neil, his Junkie, into a tight hug. Neil seemed to sigh into the contact, sagging into his arms, like a lax puppet on strings.

"I missed you, I missed you," Andrew mumbled into his hair, quiet as a church mouse, solemn as a hymn, sincere as a prayer.

"I know," Neil whisper back, one hand twisted into the nape of Andrew's neck, his blonde hair tugged so tight it almost burned, the other curled into the small of his back.

He heard someone drop something to the ground in the background, and he almost jumped back from Neil, instantly aware like a rush of sound, that the entire team had just witnessed that act of passion.

"So," Richie said, biting the inside of his cheek, "That just happened," Neil laughed uncomfortably, but didn't step too far away from Andrew.

"I supposed that's confirmation that you have no issue with Josten joining the team," Andrew heard Coach Sauvage comment from the doorway.

Neil hung his head in embarrassment, but Andrew could smiled, a small one, simple and discreet. Sauvage took a note in her clipboard and said, "All right you losers, clear out and rest up, I'll see you all back here on Monday," She tapped her pen against her clipboard in an air of finality and swiftly turned and left the locker rooms, leaving her bewildered teammates and a love struck couple behind.

When she left, Andrew tugged on Neils arm, "Let's go," He said. Neil nodded, and waved a quick goodbye to their teammates and they followed Sauvage's quick getaway.

Andrew dragged Neil to the car, and pressed him up against the cool metal, it was dark out, and quiet, but this time, it was just them and the moon and stars as their witness.

Andrew tipped his forehead against Neil's, and breathed, he could feel Neil's own exhales puffing against his lips, and he revelled in the mingled air he breathed in.

"Andrew," Neil said softly, lifting his hand up and twisting his fingers into the back of Andrew's hair.

"I know," Andrew muttered, not exactly sure what he knew, just that he knew that this moment was perfect, and belonged to them.

Neil huffed a laugh, and Andrew silenced it by pressing his lips against Neil's soft and gentle, cupping Neil's face in his palms, as he tried to express what he felt without words. Neil responded in kind, and he could feel him slightly grin against his lips. With that smile, Andrew felt the words, sizzle up, saccharine and sweet, resting just behind his teeth, and pushing through the slit of his lips. He leaned back just slightly, Neil attempting to chase his lips, before Andrew spoke.

"I love you," He whispered. Neil froze between his hands, his eyes wide and almost glassy.

"Yeah?" Neil said, his voice watery.

"Yeah," Andrew said, rubbing his thumb over Neil's cheek, covering his twisted circle scars with the shield of his thumb.

"I love you too," Neil said, blinking rapidly after he said it.

"I know," Andrew teased, and this time it felt right.

Neil laughed, and it filled the quiet night and Andrew held him close, his arms finally feeling full again.

Me while writing this ^

But jokes aside, I did write this with an impending deadline, a huge art history paper I have to hand in in 40 minuted, with only 90 of the 1500 words written. Well. I felt at the time this was more important. I'm probably going to eat those words in a few. BUT you know, when inspiration strikes, you must grasp it with both hands and get to work, because inspiration is not a frequent visitor. I might post this to ao3 when I finish my project ;) I hope this was enjoyable and nice to read. I KNOW it was kinda angsty at the start but I hope the end makes up for it :))))

LINK FOR AO3 :)))

[leatafandom]

I wish you would write a fic where...

In s4 of BtVS, Angel finds out about Spike's chip and seeks him out to help him adjust.

Look who actually finished a Spangel prompt! I have always freakin’ thought about this. Like why wouldn't Angel stick around for a bit or come back or since they have obviously just been talking to him just call him about it? I actually wrote something much shorter, but then I remembered how much I loved season 4 and then got distracted by rewatching season four. It got much longer very quickly with more angst and almost smut.

Thank you for the ask, love. I’m happy the muse was finally moved toward the Spangel! I hope you enjoy it <3 

Spike's head lay back against the chair he had claimed in Xander's basement, anger, frustration, and hunger plucking at him as he stared at the ceiling. His thoughts swirled at his uselessness, slumped in the chair where the Scoobies had left him until his nose sniffed the air. 

"Go away," Spike bit out, as the beads swayed and Angel appeared in the doorway. "I'm not in the mood for you." 

The elder vampire's fingers poked at the swaying beads as he passed through them before taking in the space and his grandchilde. Spike frowned at him, only moving to glare at him.  

"I heard what happened," Angel started as he looked around them, left hand going to his waist as his right hand patted his side idly, gripping a large nondescript bag. 

The blonde huffed out a scoffing laugh that any of Buffy's groupies would call Angel and spill his business to the guilt-driven vampire. "So which one of them called you?" His head tilted back, a harsh sound breaking past his lips when Angel looked away from him, uncomfortable. 

Blue eyes squinted on the vampire's shifting shoulders. "Giles…" the auburn-haired vampire's head tilted to the side walking around the space. "Willow…and Xander called last night." Spike rolled his eyes, chortling before Angel paused, pivoting back to him. "I didn't know he had my number." Angel frowned, grumbling under his breath. "How did he get my number?" 

Spike's head went back, scoffing before a bitter laugh bubbled from his chest, his head going back with it. Angel frowned brown eyes roving over the slumped blonde as his head rolled to look back at him. 

"They just thought I could-"

"You could what exactly, Da?" Spike taunted, his grin smug. 

The auburn-haired vampire's brows lowered. "That I could help you adapt," Angel hissed glaring at the seated vampire. "Maybe you forgot with that thing taking up space in your head, that not being able to hurt a human isn't new for me." 

Spike stubbornly held his elder's glare before he blew out a hard dismissive breath and looked away, his fingers idly picking at the chair, not looking at him when Angel took an unneeded breath. The auburn-haired vampire groaned, hanging his head and talking to the floor. 

"You're not drinking enough," Angel chided after a moment of taking in Spike’s weakened condition and taking a step closer to him.

The elder watched as Spike’s expression turned somber in the quiet that fell between them. Angel shuffled closer to him in the stilted air. 

“What is the point?" Spike didn't look at him, glowering at the blank screen of the television. "Where's the fun? What is the point of me without my fangs?" His words were bitter as he gave a voice to the questions swirling within him in the presence of the only being that could give him an answer.

"Will…" Angel's voice was a pained wince, stopping to stand near him, worry edged into his lowered brow.

"Seriously, Peaches," he pressed, blue eyes glancing up at him. "What's the bloody point? Your sodding soul keeps you sad about it. You can't miss it. I miss it. I was damned good at being bad." His hands moved to the side in his outrage. "Who the hell is William the Bloody without fangs?” He asked, eyes searching for an answer in Angel's conflicted expression. 

Angel exhaled harshly, looking away from the desperation that filled the other's eyes. He should have come sooner or never left. The elder sighed, looking to the sofa, not too far from Spike, he had been too focused on avoiding Buffy. 

“Just because I have a soul doesn't mean I don't feel like less of a vampire," Angel grumbled, walking towards the beat-up sofa and glaring at it. "It doesn't mean I don't miss the excitement or the days when it was just you and the girls…" 

Angel frowned, his brows lowering as he thought about the first few years without them, taking an uneasy seat on the couch. Spike shifted watching as the elder settled, clearly uncomfortable, onto the seat across from him. 

"For the record, I was better at being bad than you were," the elder placed the bag at his feet as he spoke the baiting taunt, focusing on taking care of the blonde.

Spike huffed out a laugh at the memories of old Angelus and the avoidance of his question. His blue eyes didn't lift from him as he watched Angel dig around in his bag, his jaw clicking from side to side. 

“Stop glaring at me and come here. You look like shit.” 

The blonde rolled his eyes, standing sluggishly only when Angel looked at him again with a raised brow. He grumbled watching as Angel pulled out two thermoses of blood. 

"I'll stop glarin' when you stop topping my sob story and answer me," Spike snapped, eyeing the large insulated flask and sinking unceremoniously into the seat beside Angel, his lips pursed. 

"I'm getting to it," Angel gruffed, shaking his head and shoving one into Spike's hands. "Here, shut up and drink it before it cools down."

Spike wrapped his hands around the warmth he could feel before opening it and gulping down the warmed blood. Angel watched him, fingers scraping at his own thermos, eyes roving over Spike's throat as he swallowed down the warm pig's blood.  

"Spike, you are much more than just blood. You just need to find something to channel your bloodlust into," the elder offered, gaze transfixed by the trickle of blood that escaped the blonde's lips. "I did… eventually," he added, forcing himself to look away from the younger vampire.

Spike finished the oversized thermos with a slurping gulp, tongue dashing out to clean his lips before swiping the back of his hand across them. He kept his eyes closed, hands hanging between his spread knees, only opening them the drained bottle was switched out with the one Angel had been cradling. 

"Least you can still kill something," Spike mumbled, wrist turning and sloshing the pig's blood inside of the new thermos.

Angel slid the old thermos back into his bag. His brows pinched, looking back to the pouting blonde that was fiddling with the cup between his spread knees.

"Have you tried?" Blue eyes turned up to him at the hesitant question. Angel shifted, sitting back on the sofa. "When has anyone ever cared when we hurt each other?" 

Spike's eyes rolled away from him, thinking about his grandsire's point, afraid to get his hopes up. His lips pulled down, shaking his head with a grumbled denial. He hadn't thought about letting his demon free on another vampire until he had smelt Angel tonight.

"Of course, you didn't," Angel grumbled with a roll of his eyes. He shifted, turning to sit facing him on the small shared sofa before motioning for the other to hit him. "Come on. Best shot, Spike."  

Spike arched a brow at him before grinning, a free shot at Angel, even with the possibility of mind-numbing pain included, wasn't something he could.ever pass up. The blonde grinned, pulling his fist back before landing an unbridled punch with a satisfying crunch.  

"In the face, Spike?! Seriously?" 

"Bloody Hell!" Spike cursed, gripping his ringed fist before shaking it out with a broad grin when nothing but his knuckles twitched with a quickly vanishing pain. "Angel, I could kiss you!"

"You better kiss me," Angel groaned cupping his face as it healed, his eyes yellow as he glared at the cackling blonde. 

"If that's an invitation luv. I'll do more than kiss you."

[parkerlyn]

How would the ROs feel about an MC that’s always complimenting them in a genuine manner, even for the smallest of things?

Ahhhh somft 🥺 Haven’t done one of these in ages so please forgive the rust on these drabbles askdjfkd (still working on the art prompts slowly in the background)

Written in the early dating phase, thank you for the ask! ❤️

The Healer: "You're amazing."

The Healer laughs, bright and clear, while they bring their hand down from the shelf. "I think I'm just tall in this case."

"Tall and amazing."

“Yeah, alright.” A chuckle echoes through their chest as they hand you the jar with a smile. 

Cool glass greets your fingers, but when you try to open the preserved fruits you’re met with the unbreakable hold of the sealed lid. The metal slides under your grip at another attempt, still not budging, the only evidence of your effort in the pain at your palm.

You sigh and hand it back to them, and they twist it open with an infuriatingly quick 'pop' before handing it back to you.

“Tall and amazing and the best jam jar opener,” you state matter-of-factly as you happily take the jar back. The syrupy sweet smell of honey and peaches accompanies another round of the Healer’s laughter.

“You did most of the work,” they say in assurance before a mischievous smile works its way over their mouth. “But are there any other small things you want done? I’m starting to get used to this string of compliments and I’m kind of curious how many you can remember in a row.”

Leaning the jar against your lips, you hum. “You don’t have to do anything, I can make that list on my own.”

A quirked eyebrow joins in from the Healer as they let you mull over your thoughts.

“Tall and amazing and the best jam jar opener, the best Healer, the best hugger-” They laugh. “-the most genuine, most gorgeous, the best laugh and eyes-haver-” They snort at your phrasing but the eyes in question narrow over their rising cheeks, smile spreading wider as they hold their hand up.

“Okay, yes, thank you, my ego is never coming back down, going to be grinning for days,” they babble back and hold their hand out for you to take as they lean against the counter. With a step forward, you gently place the jar on the wood surface before letting your fingers smooth over their outstretched palm, hands turning downward to intertwine together while you take another step closer.

True to their statement, the smile never leaves, and they bring their free hand up to brush a thumb over your cheek and down the soft skin by your ear.

“My turn to shower you with compliments about all the things I like about you?”

Your eyes close against the touch. “Do tell.” 

A soft exhale follows their thumb as they turn your head to the side.

“Actually, maybe I can show you.” 

The Sage: When you remark on how wonderful they are, there’s the briefest widening around their hazel eyes as the glow from their face fades. But it morphs instantly into a polite and measured “Thank you” while they carefully close their book. Formal and stilted, but not uncomfortable. 

It takes a few more trips of you hovering around the Archival Library to observe that this is their default. Mask on, manners sharp, neutral in all ways, in case the compliments have an ulterior moment.

There’s a pang of sadness in the realization.

A sudden determination carries into your steps, your previous reasons (or excuses) for being in the Library all but forgotten as you march your way to where you last saw the Sage. They hear you coming first, tilting their head upward and letting an excited smile slip through their professionalism.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were still-”

“You’re amazing.”

They gape, blinking, mouth trying to lure a response from their throat. 

You continue before they can refasten their formality.

“And lovely, and stunning, and more brilliant than all the stars in the sky.”

With your added barrage of compliments, their mask seems unable to be placed properly, and they slowly reshelve the book in their hands with their face turned. It takes an awfully long time, you notice, their hand tapping the top of the book’s spine once it’s settled, with a few more pats down its length for good measure despite the already snug fit.

When even they realize that shuffling their fingers over the book is redundant at this point, they let their wrist fall and tap a quick rhythm against the bookshelves.

“I’m not sure I can hold a candle to you but-”

They let it loose now. The delight, the happiness, the quiet exhilaration at your words. They almost raise a hand to their mouth to try and stifle the soft smile, but decide to let it shine outward as their eyes crinkle into a blissful, serene joy.

Instead of trying to restrain their expression, they wrap their fingers around your hand, pulling you closer and a few steps farther between the corridor of volumes. You let them lead you, let them turn and raise your hand to their lips, let them place a fleeting, secretive kiss against your knuckles before dark hazel meets your eyes.

It comes as a whisper. No caution or apprehension. All tenderness and adoration. 

“Thank you.”

Oisein: You can’t help the out-of-place comment, admiring Oisein’s glowing freckles as they scrunch up their nose over a particularly stubborn scuff on one of their leather bracers.

They look to you as the sweet words slip out. At first with an almost fearful shock, until they compose themselves with a breath and an arched brow.

“Alright then, what’re you after?”

“What?”

A smirk twists the corner of their mouth, eyes narrowing and darkened. “Complimenting me while I’m making the most unattractive face I can muster over some rancid bracers? What is it, yours need fixing? You break something? Piss off the Magesmith again?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t take that job from you."

“Good. I’d be devastated.” Oisein gives an exaggerated ‘phew’ with a swipe of their hand over their forehead, light laughter quickly following. Jokes aside, they lay the bracer down and fold their arms. “But really, what’s this about?"

You lift your face from your palm, the weight easing from your elbow on the table. “Nothing. I just wanted to tell you that you looked beautiful.”

After a hesitant pause, they make the same face from before, face twisting and freckles shifting on their cheeks as they scratch below an antler. Flickering light spasms through their pointed ears and down their neck, and they curse under their breath. Hands fly to cover their exposed markings, glowing gleefully regardless of their permission.

Their voice comes out a murmur.

“Should’ve grabbed my earring, I can usually hide that, damned things...” they trail off before taking a few steps toward you, that familiar smirk starting to curl through their lips. “Maybe I just need some practice?”

You lean back into your palm and feel the corner of your mouth lifting to match their expression while they close the gap between you, step by fluid step. Lavender eyes bore into yours as they settle their weight against the table, lifting a knuckle to trace from the base of your ear, along your jawline, down below your chin.

A slight pressure raises your face as they lean forward with a whisper on their tongue.

“Tell me again.”

Despite the many chances they have, nothing seems to be able to mute the light cascading from their skin.

The Magesmith: They scoff at your compliment, brushing it aside with the soot from their work, and go back to fumbling with the bits of metal in front of them.

You frown. "I mean it."

Their eyes flash between red and pink. "You don't have to do that."

“What?”

“Do the-” they wave the small tweezers in their hands in your general direction and sigh. “-the thing. You don’t have to always compliment me or do the cutesy talk and-”

“Can I not just compliment you?”

“No.”

The frown pulls further at your mouth. “Why not?”

A sigh sags through their shoulders as they put the tools down and run a hand through their hair. Auburn loosens from the hold of their headband and covers their eyes before their fingers pinch together at the bridge of their nose. Their lips press into a thin line, jaw set, fingers sliding down the side of their face to scratch softly at their chin before they wrap their hands around their neck.

When they don't respond, you continue.

"I'm not just doing a thing because I feel like I have to, if that’s what you’re thinking," you start quietly. "And I have it on good authority that I'm just stating facts when it comes to how incredible you are."

Another scoff sounds at your conclusion, though this one seems tinged with another emotion. Worry settles in your gut when you read the disgust on their face until you realize it's something else.

Embarrassment.

And a swirl of color that reaches the tips of their ears.

You grin.

"You're sure you don't-"

"Don't say it. You don’t have to- ugh," The response is curt as they turn away, reaching to busy their hands with their tools again, hiding their eyes and twisting something in their arm.

But the vibrant smile that breaks through tells you all you need to know.

[skellebonez]

I'm thinking spicynoodleshipping + shadowpeach #25 & 36, thank you.

Today is pain day, I just want to write angst and people being hurt physically and emotionally apparently. Sorry if you expected something more light hearted... Fair warning here for not-graphic descriptions of blood and life threatening injuries (that is once again not being taken seriously by the inured party), I wanted the excuse to follow up on a headcanon for one of these characters and I tried not to be overly descriptive.

"You have until the count of three to remove your arms from my person, or so help me…!"/ “When I say run, that means keep running."

"You have until the count of three to remove your arms from my person, or so help me...!" Red Son shouted, ocean water soaked hair sticking to his face as he tried to claw his way out of the Monkey King's hold. Steam lifted from his hair and clothes as he tried to light himself back on fire, to dry off, to get back to Xiaotian, to do something anything except be held back in his post-fight weakened state.

For his part Sun Wukong held him tighter, keeping him from slipping from his grip and falling from his cloud back into the ocean he had just fished him from or into the hard ground of the beach shores below. "Red, we have to trust them!"

"They could be DEAD Sun Wukong!"

"They can handle themselves, Red, now stop moving!" Wukong planted his foot down into the cloud as much as he could and moved to knock Red off balance to grab him around his waist and carry him away over his shoulder.

In all honesty he didn't trust his own words. Xiaotian and Red Son had been ambushed by some group of advanced tech weilding demons during some kind of outing (date, scavenger hunt, Wukong didn't take the time to ask) and they had called him for backup. He'd had no choice but to bring his current unwanted house guest, Macaque, because he didn't trust him to not antagonize the monkeys back on Mount Huaguo.

The situation had quickly gone... poorly. Red Son had already burnt himself out using far too much of his fire powers to fight the rapidly repairing bots at the demon's disposal and they had taken the time to repeatedly douse him in ocean water as an extra layer of protection. Xiaotian was holding his own but he was clearly getting tired, grateful if incredibly confused about the backup he had recieved. It hadn't taken long before the Monkie Kid turned to his mentor and asked him to take Red somewhere safe to recuperate and come back when he was "fired up" again. Macaque had shoved Red at Wukong, hissing a “When I say run, that means keep running" to the younger demon.

Red Son was decidedly unhappy about this.

"Xiaotian asked me to keep you safe and I'm not g-"

The sound of an explosion of some sort behind them stopped the Monkey King in his tracks and he turned around to see the mountain they had been flying from begin to crumble. The mountain that Xiaotian and Macaque had still been on. Crumbling...

Wukong barely registered the fact Red had stopped fighting against him and was just holding onto him and had started shaking, his hold digging through his top layer to grip the fur on his shoulders painfully. He didn't know what was worse, his own vantage point of seeing the moutain fall before his eyes after missing the explosion... or Red seeing whatever had broken it and now only being able to hear what was happening behind him as Wukong held him in a tighter grip.

"No.... no no no no no..." The Monkey King felt Red's breathing speed up and grow desperate at his words and he cursed as he made a quick beeline for the ground, stumbling and nearly falling into Red Son as he tried to set the fire demon on the ground. "No, no, they're fine, they're fine Red, I'm just going to-"

"They were still on there," Red Son whispered, grip not loosening as he tried to look past Wukong's body blocking his view.

"They're fine, they have to be."

"They were on there Wukong!" Red said again, and the small wisp of steam he felt against his cheek did not come from Red trying to dry himself off again.

The air between them grew tenser and tenser the more seconds passed and just as Wukong felt like something would snap he heard a sound from behind them. It was familar, growing louder the closer it came, and like a shooting star the end of his staff burried itself in the beach sand a few feet away from them and shrank as two seperate forms fell from the sky with varying yelps of pain and surprise, the larger one bouncing and landing a few feet further away.

"XIAOTIAN!" "XIAOTIAN, MACAQUE!" Red and Wukong shouted at the same time and Red finally let go of his iron grip. They ran toward Xiaotian, both breathing a sigh of relief as the younger man sat up with a groan. Wukong froze again when he saw the varying splashes of red coating and dripping from his shirt and jacket, opening his mouth to say something else before being cut off.

"It's not mine," Xiaotian said quickly in his heavy breathes and the tone of his voice, laced with fear and confusion and shaky as Red knelt in the sand beside him to look him over told Wukong exactly what he needed to know. The quick gaze and nod back at the other figure sent him rushing off to leave the couple to themselves. He trusted Red to take care of his student.

"Xiaotian I-I thought- the mountain it-" Red Son stumbled on his words as he let the steam tears seep from his eyes freely, not caring who saw them now that they were from relief, and he looked over the Monkie Kid. Despite being coated in fresh blood he looked... he looked fine! A few scrapes and when he looked at his neck he saw the beginning of a nasty hand shapped bruise and claw scrapes... like someone had grabbed him by he scruff of his neck and yanked hard. "What-"

"Macaque!" Xiaotian interupted, grabbing Red's hands and standing himself up. "Their robot things, they did someting and he grabbed me and jumped in front of me and-"

"Holy FUCK." Sun Wukong's exclimation startled both of the younger men and Red Son didn't need to be told to follow the other as he rushed over to the two ancient monkeys.

Macaque had bounced hard when Xiaotian had landed and lost grip on him, eventally coming to stop more than a few feet away and leaving a... genuinely concerning trail of blood behind him. Red Son couldn't help but think this was far too much blood for anyone, let alone someone as powerful as the Six-Earred Macaque himself, to leave behind and still survive.

And yet, somehow above all odds, he could see the dark furred tail weakly trying to thump against the ground from where Wukong had rolled him onto his back. The Monkey King was leaning over him, his own tail shaking stifly along with his arms as he ran his hands over his sideburns and through his hair as he was making an odd half-laugh and half-muffled yelling sound.

"Wukong, wh-oh my HEAVEN!" It was Red's turn to yell, staring down at the the other monkey in the ground.

"Hello to you too," Macaque said through gritted teeth, an expression of severly inappropriate for the situation amusement on his face.

He looked... bad. He looked bad, those were the only words Red could think of to describe the sight. Whatever glamor he had was gone, his eye scar and what would have been his milky white eye in full vew.

Unfortunately, it seemed as if something had happened because the eye was definitely not there now. Much like a nice chunk out of out of the matching arm. And he had a nasty gash in the same side.

That explained the sheer amount of blood everywhere.

"How are you alive right now?" He breathed out in disbelief.

"Let's just say," Macaque groaned, bringing up his good arm to wipe away some of the blood from his face. "Immortality and invulnerablity aren't the same for everyone. I literally cannot die."

"Like..." Red swallowed, looking at his wounds again. "Cannot... at all?"

"Cannot at all," Macaque confirmed. "But man can I get beat to shit. Healing takes forever too, but I'll heal."

There was a soft sniffling sound and something that sounded like a laugh from Red's side and when he turned he could see Xiaotian grimmacing with a half smile on his face. "I'm glad you're not going to die but never save me like that again please. I'd rather us both be hurt but in one piece next time. I almost dropped you pogoing out of there too."

"There ain't gonna be a next time kid," Macaque growled, but it was weak and didn't have any real bite behind it. He looked at Xiaotian with a glare. "And stop crying. Like I said I'll be fine, give me 3 days and I'll kick your ass when I steal you for training again. Just didn't want Peaches over here keeping me up all night with his crying if you got really hurt."

The mention of his nickname got a reaction out of Wukong, a soft chuckle and a heavy exhale of breath. All 3 other people watched in confusion as he leaned down, resting his forehead against the other monkey's softly as his tail started to sway in the sand. "I appreciate it... but now I'm gonna keep you up all night cleaning your wounds you idiot." His words were harsh but his tone of voice was soft, gentle almost, and if they listened closely they could hear a soft almost imperceptable rumble from his chest.

"That's, uh..." Macaque started, looking away from the face so close to his own. "That's still... better. Right?" He sounded just as, if not more, confused than Red Son and Xiaotian were at the Monkey King's bizarre and unexpected reaction. But he didn't tell the other ancient to stop.

"OH!" Red said suddently, turning to Xiaotian. "The demons, are they-!?"

"Dead," he responded with a sigh. "Like, super dead. If they managed to survive that explosion they were definitely buried in that... mountain-lanche? Whatever, they're not coming after us."

"Good," Wukong said softly as he sat up. "I'm gonna fly Macaque back to Mount Huaguo, you two follow us. Get cleaned up. Stay with us for the night?"

His words were stilted, awkward, but heartfelt.

The two men woudn't have said no even if they weren't.

[oyaterriblyfunnyreallywitty]

Yellow

Warnings: death

Word Count: 1121

Summary: Hufflepuff Reader x Draco story based on the lyrics from the song Yellow by Coldplay (songs get my mind going with scenarios!)

Look at the stars, look how they shine for you, everything you do

Against everybody’s expectations the Slytherin Prince had asked you, y/n, a Hufflepuff and the physical embodiment of everything opposite to a Slytherin, to be his girlfriend. After years of pining after Draco, you’d said yes before he was even done asking.

The Yule ball would mark your first official date as a couple.

And so, there you stood at the top of the stairs, lifting the bottom of your long peach colored silk dress as to not trip over it as you descended. Draco stood perfectly content at the bottom of the steps, watching you, a bashful smile on full display as he took your hand.

“Y/n, you look so beautiful.” he said, gingerly taking your hand in his and giving you a twirl, right then and there in the middle of the entrance hallway. You giggled as the whole world around you melded into yellow lights. When you finally stopped spinning you draped your arms over Draco’s broad shoulders facing him, eyes nearly crossing as your noses touched.

“I have an idea.” he whispered before pulling away taking your hand in his and leading you away from the Great Hall.

Huh.

Getting to the top of the astronomy tower was the hardest thing you’d had to do in a long time, specially in those stilts you chose to wear unaware that your boyfriend had a hike planned. You were a huffing and puffing mess by the time you reached the top. Draco only growing more restless the higher you climbed.

When you caught sight of the green blanket laid out under the observatory area of the tower your heart did a little dance in your chest.

He hadn’t.

He had though.

He turned to face you, straightening up his dress robes which had slipped a little. He let out a breathy laugh, a little phased by the journey as well.

“Ta-da!” he said, a nervous smile accompanying his raised eyebrows, his hands sweaty as he awaited your reaction. Your eyes kept darting from him to the blanket, unable to conjure any words.

“I can’t believe you, you beautiful boy!” you finally squeaked after the longest and most painful seconds of Draco’s existence. You walked over, wrapping your arms around his neck. You looked into his, ever changing, now light blue eyes as they twinkled with excitement.

You spent that entire night sprawled out on the blanket next to each other talking about constellations. A subject Draco had very well hidden passion and knowledge for as he spent a lot of his free time gazing up at them. You’d fallen asleep on his chest as the sky turned a lilac color and woke up to a bright yellow sky and a screaming Filch, “StUdENtS OuT OF Bed!”

I swam across I jumped across for you oh what a thing to do

I drew a line I drew a line for you oh what a thing to do

As Draco took a seat in the Great Hall later that same morning the teasing began. He was usually a good sport, he could dish as much as he could take but sometimes his friends were just gits.

“A Hufflepuff, seriously Draco?” Pansy said with a roll of her eyes. Goyle snickered next to her and raised his eyebrows as he messily spread butter on his toast.

It was as if last nights event had solidified the relationship for everybody. The realization that it was a real relationship that was’t going to dissolve into false rumors within a few months appeared to bother his friends.

“It’s just a house.” Draco said roughly, moving his scrambled eggs around on his plate with his fork, no longer hungry.

“Funny you should say that. Mr ‘Slytherin is the best’.” Zabini who was sat next to him gave him a shove, a bit too rough for his liking and he dropped his fork.

“Yeah and isn’t she like a mudblood.“

Draco had always been one to throw that word around but he felt disgusted as he heard Crabbe voice it. They all laughed at that, how ironic that he out of all people would end up in this situation.

“Keep out of it, okay.” His voice was growing tense and his jaw was tightening but he was drowned out as Pansy spoke up.

“Yeah, about that.” she was working on peeling an orange, “I wonder what Mr. Malfoy will-“

“Enough!” barked Draco, stopping conversations going on down either end of the Slytherin table and drawing a few eyes from the Gryffindor table.

“That’s enough, you had your laugh. Now quit.” he said sharply, his scowl further confirming the banter was over.

Now his father, that was a battle for another day, he told himself taking a deep breath.

Your skin, oh yeah your skin and bones, turned into something beautiful

 Do you know, you know I love you so

Moments like these were his favorite. The weight of the impending war was on his shoulders, but as he watched you sprawled out on the grass with flowers in your hair he felt he could fly.

“Come.” You beckoned him and he obeyed without hesitation.

And so, there sat Draco the death eater wearing a flower crown, Voldemort’s tasks long forgotten as he heard your laugh and cupped your cheek staring into your y/e/c eyes, falling even deeper if that was possible.

Endless ‘I love you’s  filled the air as the fall afternoon sun melted into stars.

Days like these kept Draco alive through the darkest times of his young life.

Do you know ?

For you I’d bleed myself dry, for you I’d bleed myself dry

"Potter!” Draco yelled as he threw Harry his wand running across what was left of the Hogwarts patio. Harry at once came to life and caught it, the battle was far from over. Your heart soared as you watched Draco continue his run across and towards you, his face smeared with dirt from the nights events. You started pushing past the other students, wanting to take him into your arms and shield him from the wrath that was sure to come from the side he’d just betrayed.

“Draco!” you yelled, unable to move faster. His face filled with what could only be described as pure love as he almost reached you. His features twisted into the closest thing resembling a smile, his eyes filled with promises of a new life.

You heard Bellatrixs shrill voice cut through the air uttering the ultimate curse. Draco’s face crumbling in pain as he fell to his knees. You could hear screaming, it was coming from everywhere.

You reached him as he fell onto the ground catching him with your own body, only when you tried to speak did you realize it was you who was screaming. You held his head on your lap and held onto his hand, squeezing tighter than ever before.

“Draco, Draco, Draco..” you chanted in between sobs as if to stop the curse from seeping through.

His grey eyes looked back at you, fighting the exhaustion he must be feeling as he slipped from this world.

“Y/N, you know I lo-love..” he choked out, unable to continue, his eyes pleading, searching for the confirmation in yours that you knew this.

You nodded as heavy tears rolled down your cheeks. His hand gripped yours, his beautiful eyes focused on your face, as if he wanted to get one last good look.

“Shhh, shh I know Draco, I’ve always know. I love you too..” you managed to speak through your gasps for air. You leaned down gently peppering his face with your kisses and tears as his eyes finally closed.

His hand let go of yours, your words setting him free.

You know i love you so

[spicysoftsweet]

Illumi x Reader, Emperor AU Oneshot

A/N: Meh, possibly a little basic since it was hastily written, but I felt like writing something other than my main story! I’ll post on AO3 as well~ A baby dose of smut at the end, under 18 please do not interact. 

Also this isn’t proofread cuz yeah, so any mistakes please ignore lmfao

---

“Thank you, come again sir!” You said, in as cheerful a tone as you could muster, as you handed over an overflowing cup of assorted, chopped fruits to an older gentleman regular. Now that it was early summer and your family farm’s harvest had been abundant, you and your baby sister sold fruit daily in the small but bustling market of your village. Your stand was successful, owing to the freshness of the produce and the polite cheerfulness you and your sister exuded. 

“I’m surprised you’re still out here!” The old man warned you, steadying himself on his cane as he held the cup with his other hand.

“Of course I am! Who else would serve you your afternoon snack?” You joked, tapping the old man on the shoulder playfully.

He returned an edentulous smile. “Just be careful, young miss!’ He warned, turning to leave.

“Understood, uncle!”

I wonder why he was surprised to see me out here…, you thought but decided to dispel the thought immediately. The old man was a little kooky anyway.

Now that it seemed that the afternoon rush was starting to wane, you inspected your stores and realized you need to replenish. You moved to the back to start preparing more of the fruit, then waved your little sister over.

“Lily, we’re running out of watermelon. Can you be a dear and bring some more?” You whispered to the plucky nine-year-old. “Are you strong enough to carry it?”

“Of course sis!” She grinned and showed a fist. “I’ll be back in a flash!” 

With that, she ran off, down the hill to the farm to collect more fruit. While you were waiting, you continued to work on slicing peaches and mangoes, humming softly as you worked. It was warm outside, even warmer in the tiny shack, and sweat was collecting on your brow as you prepared the next few cups. Once you were done, you would take a short break to get some water, so you focused on your work.

That was until you heard the clip-clop and short whinny of a horse arriving outside the stand. Since Lily was still gone, you rinsed your hands clean with a small bucket of clear water, and went to the front to serve them. 

“Hello, and welcome!” You said, brightly, still drying your hands on the apron, until you looked up and saw not the wandering traveler on horseback as you expected, but a stunning man in the garb of an imperial guard reining in the most regal-looking horse you had ever seen. 

You began to shake, and the guard gave a disarming yet malicious grin as he sensed your fear. 

“I come on orders of the Emperor,” he announced, his voice loud and spirited, and leaned over the counter of the shack, both elbows now propping up his chin. You fell prostrate at the word Emperor, on the sun-baked dirt of the road, but the guard only laughed.

“Get up, I’m not the Emperor, no need for formalities.”

You shook your head, knowing that anyone who had his seal was effectively representing the sovereign and you were just a lowly village girl. What right did you have to hold your head up high?

“Stubborn, are you?” He mused. He entered the shack, which made your heart pound in terror, and nudged you with his boot, then knelt to your side.

“If you don’t get up, you’re disobeying a direct order, and that truly would be a cause for death,” he said. With that, you immediately got up and folded your arms before you, bowing slightly.

“Hello sir, how may I serve you today?” 

“That’s better,” he said, now leaving the shack and returning to the counter. 

“Serve me an assortment and a cup of water. I’m parched.” You nodded quickly, and went to the back to present him with these items. As he drank, you watched him shyly, having never seen someone from the empire this far in the outskirts.

While the guard was stunning, he was odd-looking: pale with hair an unnatural crimson, a slender, pointed face, and heavy-lidded amber eyes, reminiscent of a golden dragon. Even though he spoke in a sing-song voice, he seemed like he could breathe fire at any time. He noticed you watching, and placed the cup down forcefully before he started on the fruit. 

“Like what you see?” He teased. It was already hot in the shack, but now you were burning up. He continued to eat in quiet but ravenously, licking his lips to collect the juices running  watching you carefully as though making a grade in his head.

It turns out he was, because the next thing he said, shocked your entire system.

“It’s your lucky day, little flower. Today is the third wave of concubine selection, and I’ll be your ticket into the palace.”

You were dumbstruck. Concubine selection? Palace? No, what you did was sell fruit, take care of your sister and parents, and work on the farm. That was your existence, nothing less, nothing more. 

“Why do you look confused?” He repeated, in genuine surprise. “The town criers were all over the land and should have notified all the villages to offer up their women of marriageable age. Did they not make it this far?” He tapped his chin, idly, looking up as he thought. “Well, that’s at least five people who will need to be executed when I make it back.”

It suddenly occurred to you. That’s why the old man had been surprised that you were still out in the open. You should have been hidden. You had heard enough about the stories of women who entered the palace and failed concubine selection only to be made slaves immediately. It was awful. Why hadn’t you hidden? Why hadn’t you known? Why had you been out in the open where everyone could see?

Now it made sense that your mother had not come out today with the two of you. Why she had looked at you so forlornly in the morning as you headed out in the morning, and hugged you extra tightly... Now you were angry. It felt like a betrayal.

You had been quiet for long enough that the imperial guard had grown impatient.

“Let’s go~ I don’t have all day.”

“C-can I say goodbye to my family first?” You pleaded. “They’re just down that hill.”

He gave you a cruel smile. “If I see them, I’m formally required to cut them down for disobeying a royal decree in not registering you for the selection.” With this, he unsheathed the sword at his side, and swung twice in swift, sure strikes. “Which would be fun, I admit.”

You immediately dropped to your knees again in pleading for your family. 

“Don’t worry, I’m too lazy to go down there anyway. Plus, I’m late,” he said, re-sheathing his sword. “How about you grab some more of that fruit for the road?”

Finally mounted on the monster of a horse and holding onto the imperial guard’s waist (he had called himself Imperial Guard Hisoka Morow), you were whisked off to the palace. You looked back at your childhood home with tears in your eyes, knowing that unless you caught the eye of the Emperor or received the favor of a high-ranking concubine, you would never have the luxury of seeing your family again. Off in the distance, you could see Lily, running up the hill, a watermelon in hand, and your heart broke.

----

Your entry into the palace was a whirlwind. In seconds,  you were treated to more extravagance than you had ever had in your life - inspected by the imperial physicians for health and disease, bathed in milk and rose petals, and dressed in vibrant and soft silk more extravagant that you had ever seen in your life, under the supervision of Imperial Guard Hisoka who stood outside the preparation area, monitoring the transformation of ugly duckling into swan. 

You stepped out on shoes that were like stilts, unable to walk and unsteady, stabilized by Hisoka’s hand outstretched for you. Your ears still stung painfully from the multiple fresh piercings to accommodate the ornate jewelry now framing your face. 

“W-why are you so invested in me?” You asked Hisoka, who helped you a few steps before calling for a palace maid to accompany you. He walked by your side, hands behind his back, staring straight ahead as you continued to hobble. 

“You seem like you have potential, and it’s always good to have an ally in the harem.” He got closer as he whispered this last portion.

“If the emperor doesn’t want you, I’ll add you to my household. I’m quite impressed by how well you clean up.”

You couldn’t tell if it was fear or excitement that caused the flutter in your belly, but you almost stumbled, and Hisoka caught you. Looking at the hapless palace maid by your side, his eyes narrowed.

“You are well aware that a single scrape can cause her disqualification. If she falls, I will have you executed, so accompany her knowing that your life is at stake.” Hisoka threatened. The maid looked like she had aged ten years at once. You were afraid for her, and for yourself, now making sure to take every next step slowly and carefully. 

Hisoka grinned, likely relishing in the extreme power he had over others. 

“I’ll see you at the selection~” He sang cheerfully, as he trudged ahead, sword by his side. 

----

Emperor Zoldyck looked from his throne out at the women kneeling on one knee before him, with their attendants, hoping for a look in their direction. Uninterested as usual, the young man, sovereign over multiple nations through subjugation of his four younger siblings, sighed and called over his lead advisor and right hand man, Imperial Guard Hisoka. 

While he was uncreatively named the Treacherous Emperor for his upheaval of the kingdom after his father’s death, he was as beautiful as he was powerful, and so the noblewomen continued to dote on him. However, despite this, he had yet to select his consorts and had never taken a legitimate wife before ascending to power. There were rumors that he was in love with his favorite guard, and this was fueled by the fact that he was bold enough to sit on a throne on his left side rather than stand guard, crossing his legs and looking onto the crowd of women as well.

“I added a few to the selection by the way, your Majesty,” Hisoka whispered to the emperor to the side. “There were a few stragglers.”

The emperor shrugged impassively. “Point out those you found fascinating. I can’t be bothered with this.”

Hisoka’s eyes gleamed as he pointed straight at you, and two other women. Fear struck your heart.

“Rise,” the emperor said, beckoning. You stood up stick-straight from your spot, not having any home training, and stumbled forward, falling into the woman before you. Who fell into the woman before her. Who fell into the woman before her…

Hisoka started to laugh uncontrollably as you got up quickly, gathering your dress, and kicked off your shoes, prostrating yourself again before the Emperor, repeating “I deserve to die, I deserve to die, I deserve to die, I deserve to die.”

The two women who had gracefully made their way to the front smiled and snickered softly, regarding her. Hisoka had to stifle a laugh as well, but the emperor, hoping to establish a sense of order, then turned to look at the rest of his imperial guards.

“Drag those two out.”

The two women froze in fear, and just like that, were carried away, kicking and screaming.

Hisoka, surprised himself, held his laughter, and raised his eyebrows at the emperor. You continued to prostate yourself, crying for having disgraced yourself to the emperor. Exasperated, he rose and without regarding you, exited to his right side.

“The selection is concluded for today.”

And just like that, hundreds of people dispersed. 

Hisoka knelt beside you again, giving you an amused, sardonic look. “I knew you’d be entertaining.” He called your attendant back and ordered her to take you to the temporary lodging palace.

“Once you’re done, go to the office of punishment to receive 10 lashes for allowing her to fall,” Hisoka said to her to your and her dismay.

“It was my fault!” You pleaded.

“Yeah, but you may or may not become one of the Emperor’s precious things. So~” His smile widened. You felt the blood run cold, but accepted defeat. “Rendezvous at the same place tomorrow morning. You haven’t been eliminated yet.”

---

Sleep didn’t come easily to you, and by the time morning arrived, the palace maids had to work twice as hard to smooth out the fatigue on your face, as you made it to the selection again. 

This time, the hundreds of women had been split to a select fifty, and you were surprised that you were called. Also noticeably, this time you were closer to the front, rather than in the back, right corner as you had been in the middle. The goal was probably to decrease the number of obstacles you’d have to go through, to your embarrassment. On your way here, you’d already  heard the whispers:

She looks so country…

She can’t even walk in those heels, she was a walking casualty…

Not to mention, she got the other two unfairly punished!

You still continued to concentrate on your balance as selection continued and each woman was individually scrutinized, then it came up to your turn again. This time, your attendant, her butt probably still sore from the 10 merciless lashes given yesterday afternoon, was extremely careful helping you up as you stood before the Emperor. 

You avoided looking into his eyes.

“Greetings to you, your Royal Highness,” you said in a practiced manner, hoping to cover up your country accent.

“Passed.” he said in a calm, even voice. His voice was assuring and alluring but you were in a frenzy of emotions.

Passed? What does that mean, “passed”? 

Before you could figure out what passed meant, you were dragged away.

----

It was when Imperial Guard Hisoka came in congratulations, surrounded by a group of senior palace maids, the ones that worked in the central palace only, and two eunuchs, that you figured out what ‘passed’ meant. You were being favored.

Your heart pounded and thumped and cried the entire time you were dressed and prepared. 

Fear of not being good enough. Anxiety of what was to come. Anger of leaving your family. Determination to remain in the emperor’s favor. 

If you were to lose favor, it would be all over for you.

Stripped to your undergarments, made up, and wrapped up in a red quilt, you were carried over to the emperor’s personal quarters, where you knelt in your underwear until he pulled back the silk curtain.

“I am at your service, your Royal Highness,” you said with eyes lowered, hands clammy, face flushed, and heart screaming in your chest.

“Your accent… is entertaining. You may rise.” 

You rose to your feet, hiding your body with your hands in shame. You were so exposed, so vulnerable both physically and in terms of power dynamic. In the snap of his fingers, he could have you executed.

You looked up and finally paid attention to his face, and immediately fell in awe. He was really as beautiful as they said.

His hair was long, lustrous and soft looking, and he had soft features, and smooth skin like a child. But most beautiful of all were his large, doe-like eyes. Despite the fact that you knew he was known to be cruel and quick to dole out punishment, even back in the countryside where you were from, you couldn’t help but fall for these doe-like eyes. 

“What is your name?”

You said your name in a soft mumble, and he repeated it, trying the words on his lips.

“Well,” he said your name out loud again, “I’ve decided to start the harem with you.”

With that, he moved quickly as you were left to process. You let out a gasp as he lifted you up in his strong arms; you reflexively put your arms around his neck. He paused, and looked at your lips longingly before placing you on the royal bed. 

Once you were on your back, he climbed onto the bed, straddling you on both sides. Your whole body started to quiver as you pulled into yourself, but he placed one hand gently on your cheek.

“Relax.” With that he leaned in, his lips cold but soft as they pressed to yours. You felt your body be consumed entirely with that kiss and your body relaxed, your arms and legs laying uselessly by your sides. You don’t remember when your undergarments were removed, but the thin fabric had disappeared, possibly ripped away by him as he distracted you with his tongue exploring your mouth.

He was intoxicating. His kisses traveled from your lips, to your neck, to your collarbones, to  your nipples, abdomen and finally down into your core, where you arched in pleasure, adjusting to a sensation you’ve never yet experienced. His hands traveled gently up and down your thighs as his tongue ran circles, spirals, and figure eights around your clit, and his tongue pierced your warm center, making you moan unintelligibly in pleasure.

“Call me by my name,” he said, his voice about an octave lower as the palm of his hand worked your bud and the tips of fingers worked the sensitive nipple of your breasts.

“Y-your Highness!”

He gave himself two pumps before entering you slowly, giving you a moment to adjust and then thrusting himself forward to the hilt, then pausing, flipping his hair back to keep it out of his face as he hung over you, completely inside. 

You were letting out small, soft whimpers, as you tried to adjust to his size. It was uncomfortable but it hurt in a way that felt good. He didn’t move and you stayed where you were, and he continued to focus on looking at you straight in the eyes.

“No, call me Illumi.”

“Illu..mi,”  you complied, still breathless.

“Good,” he said, as he started to pick up speed. 

The moment seemed to last forever, as your euphoria continued to rise and rise, and he thrust harder and harder inside of you, as if he intended to make a royal descendant that very night. The room was filled with your whimpers and moans, and soon, he let out very soft groans as he finally reached his limit. Your coil snapped first and you released, your vagina seeming to milk him of all he had. Then his final thrust came, and he tipped over as well, filling you to overflow with his royal semen.

He parted from you, and rolled beside you, not saying a word. He didn’t hold you, but existing, in the bed with him, somehow felt like enough. He was the emperor, it could be more transactional than that, but it wasn’t. He had held you, and had put his lips to yours. It was enough for now. You’d only be one of many.

But you were still curious.

“Why me?” 

“Why not you?”

You felt your face grow warm. It was as good an answer as any other. He was the emperor, he could do whatever he wanted. You wondered if you were done.

He got up and walked over to a chest, placed far away from the bed you’d both soiled with sweat and body fluid. You sat up, watching him, curious as to what he was doing. If he would leave, or have you escorted out.

He pulled out something small in his hand that you couldn’t see.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

You obeyed, and he knelt behind you on the bed, his fingers in your hair, affixing the top of your hair into a high bun, then securing it with whatever he had in hand. 

Before you finally drifted off to sleep, you took a peek at the mirror across the room to observe his handiwork; little did you know, he had placed a seal in your hair designating you as his - a single, round-capped yellow pin.

[hanakokichi-donutjuice]

👀 I noticed you followed the author I mentioned, care to check out the newest fic they posted? 👀 also also, christmas headcanons? :0

Hey! Thank you for request ! I don't know if you want Tsumitsu so when in doubt I did general hc on all the characters, but if you want Tsumitsu in particular tell me and I'll do it again ^^

I haven't read her new story yet, but it's in my Bookmarks ! As soon as I have a little time I'll read it ! :D

TBHK CHRISTMAS HEADCANONS

It's Christmas ! They are all having a great family celebration

It’s Sumire’s birthday too (not the real date but I like to think she was born on a holiday)

Tsukasa eats mistletoe

He also plays with garlands and almost electrocutes himself with the string lights

Teru has a horrible Christmas sweater but he thinks he's on top of fashion with

But no, tell him no

Besides, he made sure to match his sweater with his siblings

Mitsuba cut Nene's hair shorter

Mitsuba wears a golden garland instead of his scarf

Tsuchigomori tied Hanako's tie knot

Tsukasa couldn't tie his tie on his own so he had to ask Sakura to do it for him, but Natsuhiko said he took care of it.

Think for two seconds that we've never seen Natsuhiko with a tie, why? He just doesn't know how to tie a tie

After an hour he gave up and he ended up putting on a bow tie and suspenders in Tsukasa instead.

Aoi and Nene both have candy cane earrings

Kou makes the meal

Teru wanted to help him, but we kindly sat him down at a table instead

" NO ! OUT OF THE QUESTION ! WE WANT A WARM PARTY BUT NOT A FIRE !!! GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN NOW "

Mitsuba stole the star from the tree bc: "I am the brightest star in this room! "

Akane and Amane argue over who is more beautiful between Aoi and Nene

"Yashiro is so radiant that she could replace the star on the tree! "

"Well, Ao-Chan is so bright she shines brighter than all the fairy lights on the tree! "

Then Aoi and Nene said it was Teru the brightest in the room

So we tied Teru to the top of the tree to light up the room instead of the star

"We" in fact it was Akane and Amane out of revenge

Tsuchigomori is disguised as Santa Claus

Teru taught him how to make a good "Heave-Ho!" "To stick to the character (but Teru remains the God of "Heave-Oh!")

He also smokes in a pipe with candy cane color

"WHO PUT A FIR BRANCH IN MY PIPE ??!" "

Tsukasa beheads gingerbreadmans and glue them back together to make characters with multiple limbs / Heads

Sakura is sitting by the fire reading a large, beautiful, ancient storybook with sumptuous gold bindings

Natsuhiko had put mistletoe over her chair before the reception

He was going to go under to try to kiss her but ...

Tsukasa comes running ahead of him (dropping the mistletoe in the process) because Sakura is reading Christmas tales and he ABSOLUTELY wants her to get him over it

Mission failed.

Kou, Aoi and Nene distribute Christmas hats to everyone

Hanako put on a Christmas hat over his own hat

At one point Amane asks Tsuchigomori to do Christmas carols on the piano (I like to imagine him playing the piano, the flute and the saxophone) and he manages to convince Yako to sing too.

She has a beautiful voice, she looks like an angel

Then after she clinks glasses with Tsuchigomori

Then they toast once again to their sucks

And again, they drink again!

Okay, by then they're both totally drunk and Tsuchi ’dancing rock with Yako

Flash Info: Music is a slow

Lemon improvised himself Dj, besides his turntables have a lemon motif

Mitsuba eats all the coconut rock fereros (Rafaelo I think?) he can find, anyway nobody likes it so it's okay

Tsukasa and the Mokkes steal the mandarins and papilottes which are placed on the guests' plates

There are firecrackers in the wrapper paper but they don't make much noise: Tsukasa is very very disappointed

So instead he hides behind Mitsuba and explodes crackers behind him to scare him

Almost all the gifts are for Aoi or for Nene

In fact Akane and Amane made a competition to find out which one would give the most gifts to his sweetheart

Perfect equality

"Hanako-Kun ... Did you really get me a Daikon plush ?! "

Aoi received ALL Pandora Hearts, Vampire Knights and Black Butler tomes from Akane

Natsuhiko also gave Sakura a lot of gifts, but they were mostly books.

He gave her some handmade silk gloves too (Mitsuba gave him the patterns and he managed to sew them himself, it's wobbly but it's pretty anyway and Sakura likes them a lot), a pretty refined and expensive tea set, and books on medicinal plants, on precious stones and on healing but he also offered her science fiction books because he knows that she is secretly a fan of this kind of reading

Sakura does not show it but she is very touched, especially since she had never spoken about the fact that she has a weakness for science fiction books.

Sakura gives Natsuhiko a kiss on the cheek

Simp.Exe stop working

"There was mistletoe above us, that's the tradition"

She gave him a dangling earring with an amethyst stone (I can say more if you want but the meaning of the amethyst is based on a hc of Sakura that I have, if you want hc a this to better understand why this stone, ask me ^^)

Nene gave Amane her rocket keychain, lost about 50 years ago

Hanako remains silent then he hugs Nene, he almost cries

Akane offered Hanako milk

“It's good for growth"

Kou gave him a cat ear headphones

And Sumire gave Hanako a bell necklace

"I AM NOT A F****** CAT! "

"Hanako-Kun… You meow while sleeping and sneezing…"

Tsukasa donated handmade pottery to everyone

He accidentally broke one on Amane's head

"My head is… Spinning… Ho I see… The Stars… THE STARS, BROTHER! THE MOON IS NEAR! "

But he offered Yaoi to Mitsuba while whistling

Mitsuba turned all red and stuttering after that

Hanako gave Akane a math manual with his name written on it

"But ... is this my manual ??? It's been something like… Seven months since I look for him! "

"Yes, I thought you would be happy if I gave it back to you for Christmas"

Teru gave everyone the lobster plush toys he won this summer, his stock was too big for Tiara's room (which by the way is really big for a little girl room!)

Aoi gave Nene pretty hair clips and Nene gave her some lily seeds

Sakura gave Nene gaiters and an hourglass and Nene gave her a set of tea scented with autumn flavors and a scented with flavors of winter

The Toilet Trio donated cups to Tsuchi ’

Tsuchi' and Yako both treated themselves to first-price perfumes found in supermarkets

He also gave her a fake fox fur to annoy her

Yako bought her a ferret, (don't ask me why I don't know, she thought it was a good idea)

So now we have Tsukasa and Mitsuba running behind the ferret to play with him since half an hour

And Hanako wants the ferret to be called "Rocket"

Sumire received luxury jewelry, clothing, shoes, fan and perfume

Tsuchigomori donated a telescope to Hanako

Kou received overalls, a multicolored sweater and items and clothes with egg designs on them

Mitsuba received a mirror and polaroid paper for his photos

He also got a whole bunch of kawaii items and clothes with peaches, including an orange skirt and a pink winter dress with soft faux fur.

And Mitsuba gave everyone the same thing: A photo of him with a cute face: “So am I not the most beautiful of gifts? UwU "

Lemon offered Akane a Netflix subscription, but he plans to squat his account too

All the gifts that Lemon has received have… Lemon… designs.

"We should stop the joke one of these days guys, once it's going but every year it gets long by force ..."

Someone (obviously unconscious!) Offered a jumping stick and stilts to Tsukasa, who had the wonderful idea of ​​combining the two, before eventually dashing headfirst into the table.

A little more and he landed in the fire ! ! !

Akane donated a plush, a Hawaiian shirt, glasses and a pen all with pineapple designs for Teru

Teru gave him some sushi candies to make together

He also gave her a watch without hands because: "You don't need any object to tell the time, after all you're a bit of a clock yourself, aren't you? "

"After the party we'll have to throw out the tree, but do we throw Teru with the tree too? "

I hope you like it, I took a long time to write it <3

[the-cult-of-russo]

Push and Pull (Part 19)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OC

Warnings: cursing, smut

--------

The punching bag swung wildly at the flurry of punches directed at it. Daphne was grunting as she hammered the shit out of it. She had a lot of things to work through. If there were two things she hated more than anything, it was not being in control and being confused, both of which she was dealing with. She wondered when things got so messy for her. She had friends now and then there was the whole thing with Matt. On top of that, the Italian situation seemed to be ramping up several notches and even her personal cases were linked with it or just ended up crazier than normal. Everything felt like it was spiralling and she hated it. 

Her wrapped fists pelted the bag as she worked through all those thoughts. Worked through her talk/argument with Foggy the day before and Karen's words before that. She just needed it all out and sex with Matt, no matter how amazing it had been, wasn't really on the tables anymore. She longed for those days back, as short lived as they were. They didn't like each other but they weren't like this. And sex with him had been the best cure for her messy brain than anything else she’d ever tried.

She punched the bag even harder, channeling all of her negative emotions into it.

"Your form's all sloppy," a voice rang out behind her. She gasped, whipping around to come face to face with Matt. He'd scared the shit out of her creeping up like that.

"What are you doing here?" She asked in her panic, a hand over her rapidly beating heart. He chuckled a little. She noticed he was wearing his gym gear and he had a box in his hands. 

"I uh… this was my gym first," he murmured wryly. She nodded stiffly and stepped away from the bag. She felt stupid for even asking him that.

"Right… I'll just… leave," she muttered, moving to grab her backpack from the bench.

"You don't have to leave. I wanted to speak to you," he replied with a hesitant smile. She stood up straighter, not knowing where this was going or how bad it would get.

"I recognise I'm not the easiest person to be around. And I can say I'm sorry but it means nothing if I keep repeating the same mistakes. But I know I went too far… and since my words won't mean much… I got you these," he said carefully. He held out the box he'd been holding and she looked at it curiously for a moment before she took it.

She hesitantly opened it and furrowed her brows. It was a pair of boxing gloves. A deep purple and black with her initials embroidered into them. She didn't really know what to say.

"These are… I… thank you," she mumbled awkwardly. She wasn't used to gifts. She pulled them out, plonking the box on the bench as she turned them over to inspect them. They were really well made and she noted the colour was a close match to her hair. 

"I know it's not much and it doesn't make up for me being… well me. But…" he trailed off uncertainly. She really had no clue on how to respond to this kind of thing and she hadn't expected it. It made her chest feel strange.

She blinked up at him and then something dawned on her she'd missed.

"How did you know I'd be here?" She asked, confused. She hadn't told anyone she'd been coming here and he made it seem like he'd come here knowing she'd be there. He let out an uncomfortable chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. She squinted slightly and waited for him to answer.

"I… I know you've been coming here," he replied vaguely.

"How?" She pressed. He shifted on his feet looking awkward and it threw her off.

"I could... smell you… the last few times you've been here. I knew you've been here," he replied softly. 

Her eyebrows almost flew off her head at that.

"Smell me? What do you mean you could smell me?" She scoffed, thoroughly offended. He grimaced, another uncomfortable laugh leaving his lips as he looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

"Everyone has their own distinct scent, including you," he explained as his eyes were in her general direction. She blinked for a moment before licking her lower lip. His senses were so weird sometimes. 

"What do I smell like?" She asked with a mix of uncertainty and curiosity. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. A brief smile crossed his lips as he cleared his throat.

"Usually lavender and ylang-ylang… mixed with something that's just… you. It's hard to explain, I know it's… weird," he muttered, shaking his head. He looked almost embarrassed and she decided to take pity on him.

"I don't envy you. I can't imagine how bad it is walking the streets with a nose like that," she teased softly. He seemed to relax a little and smiled too.

"It's not great," he chuckled. She was clutching her new gloves to her chest and felt very aware of the delicate situation between them. She hated that it felt so fragile. Like she wasn't sure if she'd say the wrong thing and they'd go back to square one. 

"I'll uh… I’ll get out of your hair," he said quietly with a nod, moving to the door. Foggy's words pinged around her brain like a ping pong ball. 

"You're gonna give me some awesome new gloves and not even spar with me?" She asked with a playful scoff. He stopped where he was, glancing back at her. 

"It is pretty rude of me," he replied with a hesitant smile. He walked back over and started wrapping his own hands as she slipped the gloves on. They fit like a dream and she kept admiring them. She wished she had words to express that she was grateful but it just wouldn't come to her. She just had to hope he already knew. 

The whole exchange was stilted. They sparred a little and refreshed what he’d already taught her. But where there was usually biting comments or teasing remarks, it was just instruction and silence. Things were still too fresh to just go back to being semi assholes with each other and it made the whole thing feel off and weird. 

She sat on the bench when they were done as she removed her gloves and put them back in the box. Matt took a drink from the fountain before standing back up and glancing her way.

"Karen told me about our new client. I'm pretty sure you single handedly saved our firm," he grinned a little, trying to make conversation. 

"Well someone had to. Nelson and Murdock have become quite important around these parts," she replied with a soft snort.

"You didn't have to," he murmured with a shake of his head.

"I know. I wanted to," she said firmly. She stood up and gripped hold of the box. She was half expecting him to argue with her but he didn't. 

"I appreciate it. We all do," she could hear the sincerity in his voice and she gave him a little smile. 

"Honestly, I was just sick of Foggy bitching about being paid in pies," she snorted as they made their way to the door. 

"He did seem more receptive to the peach cobblers," he chuckled, holding her arm just like normal as they stepped outside. 

"Speaking of which, shouldn't you be at work right now?" She questioned, glancing up at him. He smiled to himself with a shrug.

"Technically speaking… yes," he smirked. She shook her head with a rueful smile, feeling like it might be possible to save this thing with them. 

"You coming out drinking tonight?" She asked. The pair were walking slowly, weaving through the people in the street.

"If I'm not needed somewhere else," she knew that somewhere else entailed him in a mask and suit and she nodded.

"Had any concussions recently?" She teased, earning a snort in response.

"Thankfully no. But don't jinx it," he grinned. 

She stopped walking causing him to halt too and he blinked down at her. His eyes seemed brighter in the sunlight and she noted his lack of glasses.

"You're glasses missing?" She teased softly.

"Nah. But someone once told me they liked my eyes so… I figured maybe I'd wear them less," he smirked. She felt her cheeks heat up and she bit her lip. It made her stomach flutter and she had no idea why she was feeling so weird today.

"Well they were right. They seem like a really wise person," she said with a cheeky grin. He laughed, tilting his head a little as he gazed around her face 

"Sometimes," he replied slyly. She poked him in the chest and he grunted with a laugh.

"Well as much as I’d love to guide the blind man… wherever the fuck you're going, I have to head home and do laundry," she murmured. He nodded, gripping his cane tightly. 

"Sounds like fun," he replied, lips quirked up a little. 

"Super fun. I don't know how I'll contain myself," she snorted as she stepped away from him.

"I'll see you tonight if Hell's Kitchen isn't on fire," she smirked. He gave her a nod and she turned around to make her way home. 

As much as she hadn't expected to see him, she hadn't wanted to really. But she was glad she did. It was still a little awkward and weird but things seemed to be not so bad anymore. He seemed like he was really trying so she was too. That didn't mean once the delicate state ended they wouldn't go back to snarking at each other and pissing each other off. That was their whole thing. But that was very different to the state of things the last few days. 

She spent some time at home, cleaning and doing her laundry and just making sure things were in order. She wasn't dreading that night now things were a little smoothed over with him. She was excited to see Foggy and Karen too. Hopefully her social life would calm the fuck down again so she could just worry about the other bullshit in her life. 

Night time rolled around a lot quicker than she expected and she struggled on what to wear. The weather was warmer in the day but at night it got a bit cooler. She settled on her high-waisted skinny jeans with a cropped black sweater that slipped off the shoulder a little. She slipped her phone and money in her pocket and stuffed her boots on, redoing her high pony before she slipped out the door. 

It didn't take too long to get to Josie's, she'd only ever been here a few times but she liked how chill it was. It was a bit of a dive which meant not many people went there. When she walked through the door, she noticed Foggy and Karen sat chatting at a table. Matt was noticeably missing and she didn't like the pang in her chest that came with that realisation. 

"Daphne!" Foggy beamed, jumping up and squeezing her as she got over to them. She snorted, patting his back before he let go. Karen stood then and gave her a tight hug.

"Wow, you guys are already getting through it, huh?" Daphne smirked as they sat back down.

"Just a little," Karen giggled. 

"I guess I need to catch up then," she said slyly. She went to the bar and ordered a bottle of whiskey, because why the hell not, and sat back down with three shot glasses.

"Where's Matt?" Daphne enquired softly, trying to sound nonchalant. Karen smiled behind her hand and glanced to Foggy. 

"He had some stuff he needs to do," he gave her a look and she knew where he was. Running around Hell's Kitchen and beating the shit out of people. 

"Did you guys fix things?" Karen asked hopefully. Both her and her new boyfriend seemed a little tipsy and Daphne quickly filled up her glass and slammed back the shot.

"Kind of. Mostly. We talked it out and stuff when I saw him at the gym earlier," she said awkwardly. Foggy clicked his fingers and looked like he'd just had a grand epiphany.

"That’s where he was! Doctors appointment, my ass! He never goes to the doctors!" Foggy grouched, acting like he was bothered by the small lie. Karen laughed at him which only served to make him pout. 

"Did it go okay?" Karen pressed. Daphne supposed she shouldn't have been surprised they’d want to talk about it. Matt was their best friend.

"Yeah. I think it did. It was a little weird. Kinda stilted, you know? We were being kind of polite and it felt weird. But it just felt too soon to go back to normal. He said he's sorry again though and got me a gift," she murmured, slurping another shot. She was trying to play catch up with them and she wasn't sure how long they'd already been drinking for.

"A gift?! What was it?! Flowers?! Chocolates?!" Foggy was practically bouncing in his seat and Karen shushed him with a giggle as people looked over. Daphne snorted and shook her head.

"Boxing gloves. They were black and purple and had my initials on them," she said with a soft smile. 

Karen 'aw'ed at her and Foggy looked perplexed for a moment, the more drunk out of her two friends. He looked like the information was trying to ease its way through the layers of alcohol.

"That's ridiculously sweet, oh my god," Karen gushed. Daphne rolled her eyes and poured them all some shots. 

"Boxing gloves? That's… genius! That's like your thing you do with him! That's so more personal than chocolates or flowers!" Foggy smacked himself on the head and Daphne raised her brows amused at him.

"It was sweet but let's not read too much into it," she muttered, pushing the shots towards them. They accepted and all drank them at the same time. Thankfully the conversations steered away from that topic. As much as she was grateful for the gift and for things to start to return to normal she didn't need her drunk friends to start going on about them getting together again. 

The night wore on and they all made good conversation. By the end of the night they were all pretty intoxicated. Them more so than her. But she started to feel a little bit like the third wheel. Foggy had tried to say he'd walk her home but she’d waved him away and said she'd get a cab. She didn't want to ruin their moment. 

She was swaying on her feet when she got out of the cab and she was sure she gave the driver way too much but she couldn't bring herself to care. She had to lean against the wall as she struggled up the stairs but she pushed through and got there in the end. After fighting with her door for what felt like an eternity, she finally got it open. She grinned at herself for her accomplishment. She was wasted. 

She padded further into the apartment, almost falling when she tried to get her boots off, knocking over some things on the kitchen counter nearest the door. She heard a tapping noise and she glanced around, her face scrunched up as she tried to figure out what it was. She heard it again but more firmly and her eyes went to the window. She blinked slowly at the figure on her fire escape. 

"Satan?" She whispered, more than confused. After a beat, her face dawned with recognition. 

"Ohhh. Oh!" She grinned as she walked over with sloppy steps and pushed the window open. There stood Matt in full Daredevil attire and a vaguely amused look on his face. 

"It's you!" She beamed. 

"Wow, you're… drunk," he chuckled.

"Maybe. Come in," she snorted as she moved away from the window. She watched him climb inside like a graceful lion and then she went into her kitchen area. She crouched down, rummaging through her cupboards as he stood watching her perplexed. 

"Ah-ha!" She grinned triumphantly, standing with a bottle of tequila in her hands.

"What are you doing?" Matt asked patiently, like he was talking to a small child. She waltzed over on unsteady feet and set the bottle on the coffee table.

"I missed you," she pouted. She'd hate herself in the morning but she was too far gone to stop this whole thing. His mouth floundered a moment before he chuckled.

"Really?" He asked skeptically. 

"Mhm. I think that…'' she trailed off, closing the gap with them as she reached up and pulled his mask off. His hair was all over the place and she had a dopey smile on her face as she tried to fix it.

"I think you should drink with me so I'm not just a sad lonely drunk," she fluttered her lashes, not that he could see them as she finally released his hair. 

"I can't. I have to be out there," he said softly. She frowned and her lower lip jutted out slightly.

"Please?" She whined. He hung his head a little as he pursed his lips.

"I really can't, Daphne. I'm sorry," he said regretfully. Her face fell completely and she glanced to the floor.

"Oh, okay," she didn't mean to sound so pitiful but it happened anyway. 

She moved away and heard him go to the window and it closing. She presumed he'd gone again but when she turned around he was still there, tossing his mask onto the coffee table. 

"You're staying?!" She asked hopefully. 

"I'll stay," he relented with a smile. Maybe he took pity on her. She flung her arms around him with a beaming smile and his hands came around her as he snorted at her over-the-top happiness. His hands settled on her lower back as he just let her hug him. 

She moved away and grabbed the bottle thrusting it into his hand.

"You need to catch up 'cause I think I might be drunk," she murmured. 

"Really? I couldn't tell," he smirked. She sat sideways on the sofa and watched as he took a really long drink from the tequila with a grimace. 

"You take your suit off, get comfy," she said absentmindedly. He quirked a brow in her direction, bottle still in hand.

"I think you're just trying to get me naked," he smirked.

"That would just be a bonus. Besides… your best bits will be covered," she vaguely gestured to his crotch area and he laughed.

"I don't know how I feel about that being my best bits," he murmured as he took a long glug before he set the bottle down and started undoing his suit.

"Okay, so not your best bits. Your face is the best bit, but that's a close second," she grinned cheekily at him. He smiled shyly before shimmying out of the suit. He lay it over the armchair, now only in his black boxers as he walked over and sat beside her on the couch. In her drunk state, she couldn't stop looking at him even if she wanted to. 

He picked up the bottle, taking another very large drink and even through her alcohol induced state she knew he’d already rapidly caught up to her.

"You're staring," he murmured, glancing her wry with a smirk.

"Excuse me, sir! It's not my fault that you're so goddamn attractive!" She objected, poking him in the side. He let out an unexpected laugh, leaning away from her touch and amazed grin spread across her lips.

"Oh my god! Is the big bad Daredevil ticklish?!" She laughed, having a hard time containing herself.

"I'm sensitive to touch!" He defended, laughing again when she tickled his side. 

"Stop!" He laughed, trying to wriggle away, but she just followed him in her thorough amusement.

He caught her wrists and she squeaked as he gently yanked her closer to him. She blinked up at his beautiful hazel eyes and got lost for a moment.

"It's not fair you're so pretty," she pouted softly. He released her hands, the pair sat close, facing each other. 

"You're prettier," he smiled. She snorted and shook her head.

"Nuh uh. You can't even see me!" She giggled and made him chuckle.

"Foggy tells me I have a gift with sensing beautiful women," he smirked. 

"What if he's lying?" She countered with a grin. 

He reached both his hands up and her eyes fluttered shut as he touched her face. She felt all tingly as his fingers trailed over her face with a featherlight touch. He seemed to touch every inch of her face and when he dropped one hand, the other tucking some stray hairs behind her ear, she smiled up at him. 

"Turns out he wasn't lying," he whispered with a sly smirk. 

"I'm not convinced," she said softly, closing her eyes again when he leaned closer. His nose trailed along her cheek and she splayed a hand on his chest. 

His nose softly led him down to her neck and she took a shaky breath as he left a trail of goosebumps. He started peppering her neck with soft kisses and she felt like she was free falling, her heart hammering away. She could feel his own under her hand on his chest and it seemed to beat in tandem with hers.

He gave her a teasing nip on the sensitive flesh of her neck and she let out a breathy moan. Her head was swimming and she could only think about one thing. She moved away, standing up and he looked taken aback for a second. But she stayed close to where he sat, tilting his head up to her a little. He seemed intently focused on her as she pulled her cropped sweater over her head, tossing it on the sofa. His large hands smoothed up her legs before they reached her button and zipper, deftly undoing them for her. She ran a hand through his hair as he tugged her jeans down her legs, giggling to herself a little as she was unsteady on her feet and it took a little longer than it should. 

He stood with a grin on his face as his hands smoothed up her back, unclasping her bra and sliding it off.

"Convinced yet?" He murmured, leaning down and brushing her lips with his. She shook her head with a coy smirk and he chuckled. His lips didn't connect with hers, just floating there and teasing her relentlessly as his hands settled on her hips. She felt him walking her backwards and she had no idea what he was doing until the back of her knees hit her bed. In her drunken state, she ended up falling back on it with a laugh, bringing him down with her. Her legs were dangling off and he was hovering over her with an amused look, arms either side of her to prop himself up so he didn't smush her.

He was gazing down at her and she smiled, sliding a hand down his very toned chest. She rubbed a hand over the bulge in his boxers and he groaned, lowering his head a little. With a smirk, she palmed him a little firmer and he gasped, arching into her hand. She idly wondered why they'd never taken the time to tease each other like this before. She was enjoying herself. He placed a soft kiss to her neck, sliding down slowly and leaving kisses in his wake. She squirmed at the attention and bit down on her lower lip. 

He gave her nipple a teasing suck as he continued his descent and she moaned, earning a breathy noise from him in response. He continued to assault her with teasing kisses and nips in a painfully slow pace before he hooked his fingers into her panties and tugged them down. She propped herself up on elbows, watching him carefully as he knelt down and manoeuvred them off her legs and tossed them haphazardly. He glanced to her, as if he could really see her, his hands sliding up the inside of her thighs and parting them. 

He replaced his hands with his mouth, leaving open mouth kisses on the inside on her thigh. Her breath was coming in heavy as the anticipation started killing her. His devilish smirk against her skin told her he knew exactly what he was doing. A loud moan left her lips when he finally made contact where she needed it. First it was a teasing lick to her clit and then he started swirling his tongue around it. She lay back down with a dull thud, her hand fisting his hair as she gasped. He moaned against her, going at it more vigorously at her delighted noises. 

He used his shoulders to nudge her legs to perch themselves on them moving as close as he could as he switched between sucking on her clit and licking it. She couldn't stop squirming and he hooked his arms around her thighs, locking her in place. She was muttering a slew of curse words, her back arching as she felt the heat creep up her spine. She was in heaven, panting and moaning more with each passing second. Her pleasure was only furthered by the noises he was making, clearly having a good time himself. 

One of his arms moved but she couldn't see from where she was laying. But then she felt two fingers inside of her and she gasped, her whole body starting to tremble. He moved his mouth away, his fingers curling up inside of her and the noise she made didn't even feel human to her.

"Cum for me," he bit out, voice raw and demanding. She let out a needy whine at what that did to her. His mouth descended on her again and with his fingers too, she lost it. Her back arched up as her body tensed, a keening moan leaving her lips as she forgot to breathe for a minute. She felt like she saw stars as he carried her through her high. 

Once her body relaxed, he moved away and she lay there panting, trying to come back to earth. She sat up a little, hair all over and very pink cheeks. He gave her a cheeky grin and he wiped his mouth. 

"Haven't heard those noises before," he smirked at her. She just hummed, still feeling like she wasn't quite back in her body yet. 

"Am I dead? I think I'm dead," she murmured softly, a dazed tone to her voice. He chuckled, laying down beside her and tilting her face to his.

"I hope not, because I'm not done with you yet," he purred against her lips. Was he always this fucking hormone inducing or was the booze making it worse? She was putty in his hands and she was helpless to stop it.

She leant over, capturing his lips in a needy kiss that he gladly reciprocated. His hands roamed her body and she moaned softly, still floating from her earlier release. She moved away, getting to her knees and looking down at him.

"I suggest you get comfy," she shot him a lopsided grin and he snorted, obliging her request as he moved to lay with his head on the pillows. She knelt between his legs, dragging his boxers down and letting his impressive erection spring free. His hazel eyes were hovering in her direction and he bit down on his lower lip as she straddled him. 

His hands instantly went to her hips, thumbs rubbing circles on them as he smiled up at her. She bent down, nipping at his lip and he gasped, arching up and rubbing himself on her.

"You were a pretty big tease and I think it's time for payback," she smirked against his lips. He let out a dark chuckle, fingers digging into her hips as his lips chased hers, but she denied him. She ground herself against him and he let out a deep groan, arching up at her again. She sat up fully, rubbing her slick heat on his cock as she took his hands and slid them up her body. His eyes darkened, breathing heavier as he caressed her curves and she knelt up slightly, gripping his cock to line him up. 

She didn't sink down fully onto him though, barely the tip and he grunted in frustration, pulling her face down to his. She smirked wickedly as he panted against her mouth but everytime he arched up to her she moved away.

"Daphne," he pleaded, his voice a breathy whisper. She watched his face intently before sinking down onto him fully in one swift movement.

"Jesus christ!" He gasped, his back arching up off the bed. She felt pleased with herself at his reaction before she started rolling her hips. 

He sat up with lightning speed and gripped her tightly, smashing his lips to hers as he rut up into her desperately. She moaned greedily into the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck as she let him guide her. The apartment was filled with moans and gasps from the pair as they chased their release. She was sensitive from the first time and she felt it creeping back up on her rapidly. If she wasn't drunk she'd be worried about what her neighbours thought of her high pitched moans as he fucked the life out of her. She broke the kiss from sheer need to breathe, she could barely catch her breath with each thrust and she gripped his shoulders. One of his arms snaked around her lower back for leverage and the other hand gripped her jaw lightly. He rested his forehead on hers and groaned when he felt her start to tighten around him. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chanted, like a mantra on repeat as it hit her. Her lips parted in a silent moan, squirming against him as it washed over her. He was moaning loudly against her lips as he thrust up to her a few more times before stilling completely. She sagged against him a little, feeling like her bones had dissolved, and he wrapped his arms around her. His hands smoothed the skin on her back as they caught their breath, her head on his shoulder tiredly.

"Convinced now?" He asked breathlessly. She snorted, nodding against his shoulder and she felt him kiss hers in return. 

Reluctantly she moved off him, flopping on the bed next to him. She wriggled around trying to get into the covers that were underneath her and he watched in amusement but gave no help. Once she was in he got under the covers too. He held his arm out, patting his chest with his other hand in silent question. She didn't hesitate to move over, laying on her side with her head on his chest. His arm curled around her protectively and his other hand went into her hair, massaging her scalp and she hummed at the feeling. If she was sober she'd never let this kind of intimacy happen. But she was very drunk and feeling on cloud 9 so that was a problem for future Daphne.

"What do I smell like now?" She mumbled sleepily without thinking. His arms tightened around her as he pressed his lips to her hair.

"Me," he replied, sounding just as tired but more than pleased with himself. She giggled sleepily into his chest and she felt his it vibrating a little. It didn't take long before they both fell asleep in each other's arms. 

[crackcrocs]

DEATH WILL ONLY BE THE BEGINNING #3

3. Transformation Central

the entities of my personalities would like to come together in one voice that speaks through me, we or I call this collection of words from the mustiest corners of my brain to this note page to voice something that might come close to what I feel underneath the skin I wear. In all my unorganised words- I might even go as far as to call this a poem, titled:

‘TRANSFORMATION CENTRAL’

sub characters in my head would appreciate if this could be visualised & understood through as deep a lens as humanly possible. even I confuse myself so if you can decode or relate to any of this, wonderful. If not, I’m locked in my own mind, swallowed the keys to my soul.

SIMILARITIES & INTERCONNECTEDNESS BETWEEN HUMAN & PLANT CONSCIOUSNESS EXIST! if you look closely at my nose freckles you’ll see the resemblance of the constellations above. if you look at the human veins & the layout of a tree, this is further proof.

{VISUALS THROUGH A SEPIA WINDOW STARING @ THE AUTUMN LEAFS; IMAGINING THE SEEDS UNDERNEATH, THROUGH NUMB ROOT VESSELS THAT PERMEATE THROUGH EVERY MEMBRANE OF MY EXTERNAL TO INTERNAL ENVIRONMENT}

~FEATURING THE VICIOUS CYCLE OF DEPRESSION & PERFECTIONISM.

here goes:

What is this part of my mind ?

If you want; delve inside-

I may look sweet like Alice,

but underneath it all

I deteste looking in the mirror

-cos I see the mad hatter.

my inner child needs a platter-

full of care not distortion & abuse pls.

less fibbin would’ve been a breeze.

now following the dead fish in the stream!

HOW on EARTH do I fit with the cod & the Haddock?

I’m the rainbow fish- beat & battered.

dim my own light cos I’m too afraid to shine.

alone.

thieves tried to steal my shiny scales.

I sat and watched them grow.

In the sea realm they were mean gargantuan selfish whales, with poisonous shark fangs & alligator tails. scorpion hands. (gremlins)

and still they make me feel like the alien-

I cant take it.

Make it make sense ?

I can’t.

controller in my hand-

Off balance stance.  

anxiously I move round like a wobbly jelly.

where’s the button to balance my chi & shut out the ego ?

the teLLIE telling lies to our vision!

change the channel aura terracotta orange- daily dosage of vitamin D & C.

catch me sun gazing by the sea

head buzzin like a bee.

speaking from a dusty box

stuck on top of a forbidden shelf

cos I dunno how else.

I’m tryna delve deep but forgot how to dive

How can i visualise? scenery foggy-

the establishment man with the glue gun got me xD

inner monk burning but at peace

Cos I refuse to believe

If the only way is the American dream

Interconnected; like the frog in science -let’s dissect it!

down to every floating atom spirit neighbouring your door

subcategories & divisions, it’s more!

than the rich and the poor -prism that’s been built

do we all feel like a performance monkey on stilts?

will my data be extracted & used to mould a robots personality some day?

well obviously not.

does the price of our lives all amount down to slave ways?

LABOUR YAY!

but morals & values it seems we’ve forgot.

sO If i don’t speak its cos I’m lost.

or maybe i’m enlightened-

Standing at the edge of the porch;

watching TRYING to understand how the flowers grow.

questioning eVERYTHING man made!

I’ve stepped out of the perfect picture frame

I can see the coal pollute the sky

I need to hop on the train-

but I’m comfortable

Sunset to sunrise statue standing still.

what’s the ingredients to life’s yucky pie?

I’ve exceeded mental lotteries.

Sanity n universal peace would be a trophy.

TIL then I’ll be crafting & shaping a solid pottery reality,

with a few pence, gum, and a bandana of belongings tied to stick.

thinking one day I’ll be laying the bricks

& building a kingdom of bliss.

guess for now I’ll use the intricate delicate materials in my tool box- that’s all I’ve got.

might have a long way- maybe worth a shot.

I observe, cruisin in the sky.

dunno why..

I jus look @ the hills.

Only time & history reveals.

no thanks mr men-

I don’t want your prescription pills.

there’s enough propaganda as it is.

I won’t jump on the merry go round-

til my core trusts & envisions we’ll actually feel safe!

I don’t want to take part in this faux fur, sweet nothings & a jack in a box punching blur, so called future.

oh and genuinely thanks quarantine-for once again, I can hear bird sounds!

guess this is me tryna speak out loud!!!...

it’s not thrilling

system  time killing everything-

mother nature’s oxygen

everything is nauseating

clock ticking, I better start creating.

they should write a book on how to be free when the system set us up to believe that we’re tied to the cut down trees that gives them a currency of greed that they breed.

If blindfolded, I don’t wanna eat what they feed.

Whilst they profit of us -tell us smile and the bandits don’t wanna see us happy.

they’re too busy robbing all our hoods.

In exchange for the silence, they’ve granted us with a 21’st century fashion garment of a slave muzzle! labelled conform.

More delusion to add to the already desensitised norm.

zootonic diseases, welcome covid 19 to your plastic kiddy tea party!- apologies for questioning your motive!

Been handed too many hot plates with a post it note saying HOLD THIS.

we’ll be okay just hush.

Same Shan message told to every generational seed.

If we don’t TRY overpower-

we’ll never succeed!

it’s getting even more scary.

Artificial intelligence.

Societal negligence..

my canvas isn’t clear-dunno am I schizo ?

finger painting, cos it makes more sense.

struggling to blend.

borderline conspiracist pretending to be fine;

moving the goal post, hovering above the race line.

who made the chalk? who set the lanes?

I wanna know it all, maybe¿ far past insane.

I can fit all I need in the palm of my hand,

Maybe even less! cut a finger off not sure it’ll even add stress.

hi from personality Peter, even sober- always away with the fairies.

Pass the pixie dust, I’m in a rush

Found shelter in the comfort of pan physicists timer, no not the one on your phone!

Ring ring, skeptical! is it my demon or my mommy on the phone?

I’m stuck in the airspace of an infinite glass filled with beach particles trying to form myself standing up still attempting not to slip through the hands of my very own discovery.

time is running out & ill go when I go.

I’m sitting inside the fly trap -

stardust, chakras can you feel the sensation colors like a starburst.

deep emotion is a curse.

still entrapped in the sand dune of nothingness-

flipping a domino monopoly of solidified thoughts as I sway with the wind.

I’m the trapped sandbox in the playground & the slipping sand in my own hands.

Inhale chronic but I wanna enter the quiet realm of white noise

-color of a wife beater vest, calmer than the ease in ignorance of a red neck.

sadomasochistic, messes.

but oblivion, seems like less stress.

Unfortunately I can see, with all eyes

empathetic paralysis, gets me vexed.

Punching truth into the core of your chest!

It’s not funny, neither is the one on the receiving end..

My limbs are numb

& im done playing octopus alchemy.

I want minimalism & life can be simple,

Evil entities have made it hard.

Maybe I’ve got stars above my head like an old cartoon character.

But I can’t make it make sense, are they out to get me. worse all of us? Or have I bottled myself tryna re mesh the broken shards,

I feel glued to the floor cos there’s a pretty price to pay if you want more.

I see life through a different lense, maybe born downside up, Benjamin button I came out the back door-

Outside looking in, digesting confusion.

Is to be a product of environment a sin?

rummage through my messy brain.

personalities sardine packed in this tin

I’m the wizard of my mania

Scaring & attracting the black crows-

they’re my friends.

Sometimes still a cowardly lion

Roaring pain & true riddles at the wrenching wicked witch posse of the west.

will my voice ever be loud enough to shed light wit my words and grate the sweet zest

In to the cake i’m baking?

Probably not.

Got more thoughts than the autumn leaves collected by the garden rake. alone.

gathering & storing the pains of yesterday.

sometimes I stay in line

Other times in my head Im on my hands juggling out of time.

but I really don’t mind if I lose or win.

we all have a pace

I jus don’t want the 1% to win the race.

It’s unfair!

Humanity does anyone care ??

Half lady

half fairy

Good  MOOrning-

from my anagrams.

no I’m not a cow.

twister fidget spinner brain in the flesh-

form of expression this time around lyrics.

feel I’m jus a silly rubix

& still mourning

I don’t like dairy

pass the oat milk.

Are you aware the industry are sabotaging our diets?

we want peace!

the powerful elite-

perceive & deceive

the scene they want us to be.

chuck the narcissistic psychopathic pie back in our face-

every time we almost found & addressed the Programme & Control man in the maze.

evil & extroverted- he said that the anarchists have to be the cause of riots.

working isn’t class. I said let’s switch roles- he said pass.

It’s piss! Who’s got the bomb & the guns?

Who got the land? off wit OUR heads 4 fun!

it’s pure scary.

Pharmaceutics handshake.

with the cooked up suppliers, also crooked wack liars.

I’d rather shot a gallon of bloody blubbery infused slaughter house milk

If it meant we didn’t use cocoons for silk.

why not add a drizzle of bleach to the concoction & maybe that’s a reach.

every time I guzzle fakeness, it taste peak.

I want real fruit, what next-

a seedless peach ???

what’s the difference between a weirdo & a freak?

layers & levels to the shit.

Magnifying tapping the window of society, I’ll be puffing green til I get to the land of Oz.

sponge soaked soaking up emotions

Suffocated by deduction of care in life

feel entrapped in this paradigm

what am I thinking ?

got the verbs & a cuppa tea

It’s mixed with torment & desire to be free.

I’d rather be awake than asleep

When I get too comfy I feel weak

Demons they reap

underneath

rip the seems as I bleed

Concrete

Solid

Emotions

Is all you’re getting

It’s all sad scenes in the imagery I’m setting

people need care we seem to be forgetting

why are we in debt wit

a posse of clowns

pay the price so we can get a frown

here’s some seratonin

quit ya moaning

life is all sound

aw yeh¿  if you’re not an over thinker!

product of environment- Sirius flickers

theyve done a ritual like it’s Wicca

now here’s your gold sticker..

for managing to co operate.

In this world fuelled off of evil n hate

waking ups a bloody disgrace

I am not amazed.

Man I love my fam n my friends

Just hate this part of my brain that feels the need to play pretend

sometimes I feel insane

but I’m calm

need to escape so I don’t do harm

Gold lioness in the sky by the sea

with puff the magic dragon

fire out my mouth, fuel helps me breathe

I will shine bright

Promise imma be alright

even tho I’m not sure why

I function like this

I wanna be myself

It’s just hard to find the comfortability

To feel happy and pretty

Lay me down on a bed of roses

Ring around sing about overdose emotions

Sorry dunno how to communicate

Heads in a constant debate

Should I go or should I stay

My head clashes

Burnin the next ciggy as my thoughts become ashes.

[eldritchsurveys]

741.

Do you have any stuffed animals from Build-a-Bear Workshop? >> Yes! I have a stuffed dog named Reese. He was white when we bought him... but you know how that goes, lol. When was the last time that you ate fruit? >> Does an applesauce pouch count? That’s where the majority of my fruit intake comes from, since I’m too paranoid to enjoy fresh fruit. Can you pat your head and rub your tummy at the same time? >> Yeah. Do you listen to country music? >> Sure, some. Are you the generic person? >> This is a funny question because it reminds me of my reply to Lane just an hour ago about how I don’t have/do most of the main stuff that surveys ask about, and like he said, without any of that stuff I barely even qualify as a person by survey standards lmao. I guess that means I’m definitely not the generic (which I assume is being used to mean “average” here) person.

Have you ever had your palms read? >> Nope. Do you know what a fuzzy navel is? >> Yeah, some sort of cocktail. Don’t know what-all is in it, though. Do you like peaches? >> Sure. But you’ll never catch me biting into one because paranoia. Do you have in fruit trees in your backyard? >> I don’t have a backyard. When was the last time your lawn was mowed? >> Lawn maintenance hasn’t started up at the apartment complex yet, because the season hasn’t yet changed. So I guess the last time would be October or so. Have you ever been hit in the face really hard? >> Yeah, when I was a teenager. Do you hate anyone? >> No. Do you like fingerpainting? >> I don’t think I would enjoy it, because I don’t like having stuff all over my hands like that. Are you sick? >> I am not. Do you use flashlights when there is a blackout? >> I haven’t experienced a blackout longer than a few minutes in so long that I mostly forget they even exist. We don’t have flashlights, though, so I guess we’d be using our phone flashlights and candles if a blackout were to happen right now (or, rather, tonight, since it’s not a problem in the daytime). Do you like black coffee? >> Yeah. I don’t drink it, though, because of the caffeine. Have you ever stolen from a store before? >> Yes. Do you like the color yellow? >> I like gold, which is in the yellow family, I guess. There are some other yellow hues I like, too. Do you like calm, pretty colors or wild, bright, flashy colors? >> I like both, but I can bear less-saturated colours in greater abundance and for longer than I can bear neons and other hyper-saturated hues. Do you collect coins? >> No. When was the last time you rode a bike? >> It’s been a long time. I got one a couple of years ago but then I realised exactly how out-of-shape I’ve become since moving here and was demoralised. Sometimes I think about those days riding across Brooklyn and through Prospect Park without a care and I’m just. Sad. Have you ever walked on stilts? >> No. Is there anything orange on your computer screen? >> Nope. Do you use Dial-up? >> Well, that dates this survey. Who was the last person that you called? >> --- How many letters are in your middle name? >> Six. Do you collect seashells? >> I’ve done so, in Far Rockaway and such. Have you ever been to New York City? >> As two of the answers I’ve given in this survey so far suggest, I used to live there. Do you like to bake cupcakes? >> No. How old were you 10 years ago? >> 22. Do you age well? >> I mean, I haven’t aged enough to know how well I age. The transition from young adulthood to adulthood did introduce some physical changes that necessitated changes in my lifestyle, but none of those changes were unexpected or particularly negative. I’m hoping I have smooth transitions later on in life, too, but the older one gets, the lower that likelihood. How many lamps are in the room that you are currently in? >> None, it’s daytime. What color is your keyboard? >> The keys are charcoal, the “bed” or whatever is silver. When was the last time that you clipped your fingernails? >> About a week ago, or something. What about your toenails? >> A longer time. I keep putting it off and subsequently forgetting entirely. Have you ever had the chicken pox? >> No. Do you like history? >> Sure, I find it interesting to read about. Do you wear deodorant all the time? >> I mean, as often as I feel is necessary. I reapply it less often in the winter, for example. Do you tend to tangle things up? >> Er, like... wires and stuff? I mean, that just happens regardless of what I do. Can you unknot knots? >> Some. When did you first learn how to tie your shoes? >> I have no idea. How different is the world today, than it was 5 years ago? >> I mean, that sounds like a question for google, not me. What kind of car would you like to have? >> ---

How loud is the volume on your computer? >> It’s muted right now, because no speakers or headphones are connected. Name 5 things that are in your room. >> A bag of chips, an Anubis plushie, an almost-depleted bottle of absinthe, a water bottle, a stepladder. Do you like the number 46? >> I have no associations with it, it doesn’t mean anything to me. Have you ever left your handprint in wet concrete? >> No. Do you vaccuum? >> Yeah. When was the last time that you graduated from a grade? >> 2004. Do you have a nickname? >> Some people still call me Rev, which is cool because it’s still my favourite nickname. People on two Discord servers I’m in call me “Dio” because some form of “Dionysus” is the handle they know me by. Can you wiggle your ears? >> No. Have you ever been in a commercial before? >> No. Have you ever built a castle out of cardboard? >> No. Do you really ever get too old for certain things? >> Well, sure, of course.

Do you like apple juice? >> I do. Can you whistle? >> Sometimes? Like, at some point my mouth just. accidentally figured out how to make the whistling shape properly and sometimes it actually comes out right. Do you celebrate Christmas? >> More or less. Do you have a New Years Resolution? >> No. How thick is your hair? >> It’s quite thick. When it grows out, it becomes very difficult to wash my scalp properly, which is a main reason why I keep it buzzed. Have you ever wanted to grow a beard or mustache? >> Eh, not particularly. I don’t mind having peach fuzz on my chin, though, which is one of my two remaining relics from being on HRT (the other being my voice). Do you use highlighters? >> No. Are you a very traditional person? >> Nope. Do you feel awkward around certain people? >> Well, sure. Do you like bananas? >> Not at all, I hate them. Do you like Febreeze? >> Eh, I get tempted but ultimately I prefer not to use it. How many children do you want? >> Zero will do. How tall are you? >> 5′5″.

[teecohenc]

stitch by stitch, tear apart .

WHO: Tina Cohen-Chang & Tanya Cohen-Chang with mentions of Ji-Hun Cohen-Chang, Santana Lopez, Sam Evans, Hunter Clarington & Rachel Berry.  WHAT:  Happy Holidays???? ( Not in Castleport, my dudes ).  WHERE: Tanya Cohen-Chang & Ji-Hun Cohen-Chang’s home. WHEN: Thanksgiving. WARNINGS: Mentions of parental death & hints at depression. 

“Mama?” Tina called out as she carefully stepped over the threshold and into to her old family home; a dark and barbed weight settling in her chest as it tended to do ever since his funeral.

Honestly, she didn’t know how her mother could stand to still live in a place where each room was now a crippling reminder of the sunshine presence that would never fill them again. Hell, it was only last week that she’d been able to put back up her favorite framed photo she had of her and her father ( her, sitting atop his shoulders at 6 years old with a missing front-toothed grin while he laughed and laughed and spun them around ) without collapsing into tears.

They’d both agreed weeks back that Thanksgiving wouldn’t be celebrated this year. The mere idea of it was just too hard to comprehend. Truthfully, there was nothing more Tina wanted than to just stay at home for the night, curled with Salem and a few mugs of generously spiked cider while she watched a mind-numbing series on Netflix. But her mother had asked her over the day before yesterday, and there was no way she could or would refuse.

However, the sight of the small, well-loved living room table filled with gimbap, kimchi, and soju all laid out neatly across its surface was pretty paramount in both startling and confusing the absolute hell out of her.

“What—?” but her voice cut off as soon as her mother appeared from down the short hall. For a long moment, Tina just watched her come closer, incredulous to what was happening, as a rush of blinding anger came to the forefront of her senses. Was this for real? Why in the hell would she do this? Why would she do anything that would make them remember him so soon? Too soon.

“His favorite foods from home that he liked to make,” was all Tanya offered after a tense silence, but it only made the emotions ricocheting inside of her that much worse. What was she thinking? Was she serious?! But just as she opened her mouth to shout and reprimand her mother with everything she had, she found herself beat to the punch yet again.

“Don’t. Please.” Another leaden pause thickened the air like a suffocating smog.

“You know he wouldn’t have wanted the house like this, Tina; filled with this awful silence and sorrow. You and I mourning. You know he would have hated it.”

The harsh words were loaded and like a violent shot to the chest — her breath hitching as she tried to fight back the hot press of tears that prickled at the corners of her eyes.

God, hadn’t she cried enough? Why couldn’t it just stop already? Why did she do this?

Tina opened her mouth once more — to say what, she wasn’t too sure — but the sudden and harsh bursts of fury, sorrow, and loneliness she’d felt coalescing to dangerous heights mere seconds before died out when she caught the open and earnest look reflected in her mother’s own watery eyes; something she hadn’t seen in months.

It reminded her of the days she and her mother and father spent during her youth; goofing around in the kitchen and dancing sporadically to old rock music, or camping out in the backyard as her dad made silly-voiced shadow puppets on the tent walls with a flashlight, and so, so much more. Each moment was filled with the same heartfelt and loving air that she’d always felt and cherished the most from her parents that surrounded practically everything they did. They were the memories ( and everything that came with them ) that she’d so desperately tried to shove down in the aftermath of her father’s death for fear of a complete and utter breakdown. But in that one, singular instance and whispered plea from her equally suffering mother in her old family home, she found that she now, more than ever, wanted desperately to cling to them like a stubborn, spoiled child.  

And despite vaguely wishing she’d been talked to first about the whole set up; despite being ambushed and knowing she had the right to be upset in some form or fashion, Tina looked at her mother, over to the table of food that her father always swore by for the heaviest of hearts, and felt her tight, burning muscles lose all their fight and strain. 

Fine. Fine. She was right, wasn’t she?

Wasn’t she . . .?

Nodding her head, Tina smiled a choppy, but somehow sincere smile of her own as she pushed down the niggling urge to run off and throw up.

“Yeah. Okay. . .”

&&. ___________

It was a mere few hours later, and she was on that pleasant precipice of tipsiness that came just before you fell straight into being drunk. There were only a few traces of food left in bits and pieces on the table as she watched from her place on the couch — whole body warm and uncontrollable giggles tumbling free — as her mother regaled a story about the utter disaster that was her father’s proposal. It was one that she’d heard about a million times before, and yet, it never got old.

The start to their rather unexpected evening had been difficult and somewhat stilted despite the mini intervention of sorts. But once they’d stared to eat and the more they talked and began to laugh and tentatively reminisce ( the more they drank ) the easier and more enjoyable it got. Hearing about her father like this: happy and silly and whole as he ever had been, and from the only other person who knew him so well and loved him just as much as she did was something she hadn’t realized she needed; something she didn’t think would be so cathartic after the endless sad of it all.

Tina had just poured two more glasses of peach soju for her and her mother once their mingled laughter finally died down, when Tanya slowly leaned back with a small, satisfied sigh and smiled in that seeking, motherly kind of way.

“. . . How are things with you, though, honey? You know, outside of work. You’ve had so much go on with that poor Rachel girl, and this town’s never-ending need for drama outside of themselves. I haven’t heard much from you about, well . . . any of it lately.”

Well, that was absolutely a conversation that didn’t need to be had.

“Yeah, it’s all fine. I mean, it’s been hard, of course, but I’m . . . you know, dealing. I have Hunter, my friends, and work, so I’m not lacking,” she replied airily as she waved the question off. But Tanya just stared at her daughter for a long, calculating moment, and Tina felt her stomach drop at what she hoped wasn’t coming.  

Anything but that. 

“You should know better than to try and lie to me like that, sweetheart.”

Fuck. Fuck. Of course, yet again, her mother had gone and disarmed her with only a sentence ( paired with the liquor in her system and slew of emotions and issues ) as the repressed realities of the past year came slithering like grotesque vines to grip at her heart. How exactly did one tell their mother that, besides an old schoolmate dying after months of being missing, she and her friends had also been dealing with some freak tormenting them with secrets and blackmail? How she’d been on a rollercoaster with Hunter from the second he’d gotten back into Castleport that finally seemed to be slowing down and in their favor for once, or the nasty fight she’d got into with Santana that left her feeling enormously guilty and murderously irate at the same time? And worst of all, that she’d gotten Sam’s father drunk, took him home, and took a picture of what she’d done in order to save Double C’s from being shut down ( or worse ) after a series of horrible threats?

. . . Then there was her father; the haunting, painful memory of how he’d smiled a ghost of her favorite smile at her as she held his hand tight in hers ( as though that was enough to tether him to life ) before closing his eyes for the final time.

How it felt that she was just a hollow shell — a husk of nothing important or worthy of anything, and maybe she always had been.

Tanya must have seen the clear crumbling wall of emotions falling across her daughter’s face; her own showing nothing but heartbreaking empathy as she gently reached the short distance across the couch they sat on and cupped Tina’s face in her gentle hand.

“내 작은 해바라기가 너무 슬퍼 보인다.”

That.

Hearing her mother speak so gently to her in Korean along with the nickname she’d had since birth was what broke the damn, and hard. There was no stopping it. 

Tina let out an ugly, wrenched sob as she buckled forward and into her mother’s ready, protective, and comforting embrace. Her whole body shook as she cried — cried for everything that’d been her life as of late, and to the one person she knew would just let her, without judgement, without discomfort, without fear or phony reassurances, cry.

There, a daughter curled up with her mother in a heavy home filled with old, bittersweet memories and an emptiness that was felt achingly.  

And there she stayed for a long time.  

[skellebonez]

Since it looks like your in "pain mode" today, how about a prompt with Freenoodleshipping or Shadowpeach and the numbers 10 and 18?

I got so upset about losing that other fill that I decided to do fills out of order because I wanted to come back to the lost fill later on and immediately knew what I wanted to do for this one anyway... I’m picking on Macaque again, and Wukong this time.

Warning: non-graphically described injuries (though not nearly as bad as last time), anxiety, hurt/comfort.

Stop it! You’re only making it worse!/ Looks like we’re going to be stuck here for a while.

“Looks like we’re going to be stuck here for a while,” Macaque groaned as he kicked a stone hard enough to shatter it against the wall of the cave system that he and Wukong were trapped in. Together. Alone. With only the cell phone Xiaojiao had insisted on Wukong owning for light. “Fan-flipping-tastic.”

“You’re not helping,” Wukong hissed, tail swishing behind him as they walked through the tunnel and looked for any weak spot the could use to get out. He wasn’t happy, not in the slightest, and he wouldn’t be until they got back out of here.

“There isn’t much I can do to help,” Macaque snapped, kicking and shattering another rock in his frustration. Wukong noticed that he let out a hiss of his own after doing so this time and turned away from him. “Not until we find the exit. Or make one. Or try to make one and get buried alie-”

“Not. Helping!”

Macaque tensed at the snap, looking down at the ground as they continued on. “Sorry. That was... a bit far. Just... sorry.”

He sounded genuinely apologetic, not something the Monkey King was used to in his sudden attempt at... whatever kind of either redemption or something or other he was trying to accomplish, and when Wukong turned to look back at him he looked the part too. Tail and ears dropped, head lowered, gait slow and... off.

“Mac, are you hurt again?” Wukong stopped in his tracks. “Don’t lie to me.”

Over the course of time that the other immortal monkey had been staying with him Macaque had been injured a lot more than Wukong thought possible, but then again it had been a long time since he had seen him. He’d known the other could be hurt, hell he had thought he killed him the last time they had seen each other before the incident with Xiaotian after all, but the way he just brushed off his injuries was...

Well, it was just worrying enough to get his mind off the ice cold feeling of anxiety creeping up his neck. To distract him from how much his hands were shaking and how his thoughts raced and how much he tried not to remember the last time he was trapped in a mountain.

“Yes, Peaches,” Macaque replied with the tone of a sassy teenager who was being scolded by their parent. “I’m hurt. That’s what happens to me. I’ll heal, that’s also what happens to me. I’ll be fine, you know that.”

“What is it this time?” Wukong turned around fully, making a beeline back to his companion. “I don’t see any blood.”

The answer he received was mumbled under Macaque’s breathe, too low for even his hearing to catch, and Wukong sighed and thwapped his arm with his tail. Not hard at all, just enough to get his attention again. He looked back up at Wukong and sighed, gesturing with both arms down to one of his legs with a half smirk. “It’s broken.”

“It’s b- Your leg is broken?” Wukong asked incredulously.

“Only a little, Peaches, I’ve been walking on it just fine!” He argued back, putting pressure on it and wincing immediately. His fur poofed up in a tell tale sign of agitation. “Just fine.”

“Have you been kicking rocks with your broken leg the whole time?” Wukong ignored his assertions of finery, kneeling down to get a better look. Under his clothing he couldn’t tell it was broken at all, but the way the fabric stretched definitely showed it had swollen around the break.

“It’s fine, I needed a distraction!” Was the defense he received as Macaque turned and kicked another rock, this time actually yelping in pain and looking fearful at the fact he had let himself be heard letting that sound out.

“Stop it!” Wukong put his phone on the ground and grabbed him, lifting him off the ground with the darker furred monkey’s side pressed into his chest and earning an offended gasp in return. “You’re only making it worse!”

“Uh, I think I know my limits Bud!” Macaque didn’t even bother to struggle against his grip, but he sounded more annoyed the longer he was held.

“You are yelping in pain you clearly do not!”

“Oh yeah, like you know when to stop doing anything yourself!”

“Just let me focus on you damn it!”

“Instead of what? The mountain we’re... the mountain...” Macaque trailed off, having apparently noticed what he was saying and how much Wukong’s grip was shaking. How unsteady his breathing was. How his voice almost sounded like it was going to break.

“Shit... shit, Peaches, uh... are you... ok?” His questions were stilted, awkward, like they felt odd on his tongue. They probably did, they hadn’t really talked about feelings after the the whole mountain crumbling thing with Xiaotian and Red Son. They’d kind of just brushed the affection he had shown him in his injured state to the side to deal with later.

Well... it was later apparently.

“Y-... no,” Wukong admitted, feeling like he would be a hypocrite if he denied anything right now. “I have a history with-”

“Mountains, yeah,” Macaque acknowledged. “I get how that could. Yeah.” He paused for a moment, tail coming around to brush against Wukong’s own, which was shaking just as much as his grip, softly. “We could probably break out, you know,” He offered after a moment.

“I think we’ve destroyed enough mountains this week.” Wukong couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him as he lowered Macaque down onto his unbroken leg and turned to look down the tunnel again. “I don’t want to completely ruin the scenery.”

Macaque didn’t answer at first, just letting his tail wrap around Wukong’s in a soft grip as he leaned on his shoulder. They stood there for a moment in the darkness of the cave, leaning against each other, and eventually Macaque wrapped his arm around the other’s shoulder too. Wukong’s shaking didn’t stop, but it slowed down and Mac eventually leaned down and grabbed the phone from the floor before returning to that position.

“Distract yourself,” He said after a moment. “While we walk. I promise I won’t put more pressure on my leg that I need to.”

“Ok,” Wukong answered as he wrapped his arm around Mac’s shoulder and helped him along, talking about anything he could think of.

And Macaque kept his promise, all the way up until they actually found the exit.

[boneandfur]

Wild Ride [Salazar x MC][N*FW][1/8]

Notes: this was inspired by the N*FW ABC, and uses about 8 of the prompts from the original list. // Words: 2145 // Rating: 18 + // Summary: Theda goes to a party, and gets the ride of her life.

CHAPTER ONE

Salazar notices her as soon as she rolls up on that sexy red moped, the kind of import he could roll quick for a thick wad of cash. When she takes off her helmet, shaking out that damn platinum and rose gold hair, all he can think of is the girl he saw once as he drove past Rodeo Boulevard, long-legged and air brushed, the kind of woman a man like him only ever sees on the pages of a glossy magazine, the kind who's never hot-wired a car or ridden shotgun bare-breasted in an illegal street race.

One of his buddies elbows him, jostling him out of his train of thought. "You see that? That's a high class piece of tail trying to look like it belongs on the clearance rack."

"Shut up," Salazar growls, his eyes returning to that tight little ass again and again as she wiggles her hips all around the car show, the Kaneko boy and the street rat drooling after her like she's stepped out of some vintage Playboy centerfold they take turns jacking off to every night. Salazar would love to see that peach spread-eagled in the back of his Hellcat, all for him, but he knows there's not a chance in hell that a woman so beautiful would ever look at him twice, and so he's content to stare at her from afar.

As if she can read a man's dirty thoughts, she looks over her shoulder, giving him a come and fuck me stare so blatant that he chokes on his beer. When he's done coughing, she flicks her gaze back at him again, a teasing smile playing on those red velvet lips, and Salazar knows he won't be satisfied unless he takes her for a ride tonight.

•••

As she totters around the car show in the fuck-me boots she's borrowed from Apricott, Theda is beginning to think she's made a mistake in coming alone. She sticks out, it's that simple: like a domesticated dumbass unicorn in a herd of wild horses.

She's either underdressed or overdressed, but in her corset top and mini skirt, LA smog-pink, she isn't exactly dressed to kill (except maybe herself if she trips in these boots one more time and faceplants in someone's engine). People are staring already, and she wishes she'd asked Seth for advice, but she hadn't wanted him to try to talk her out of it.

The morning after a pity fuck is never pretty.

As she makes her second loop around the outskirts, her nerves start to jingle-jangle, and that's never a good thing. She lights a fat joint laced with the flowers from her garden in the canyon, white smoke trailing around her face as she tilts her head back, staring up at the sky.

She can feel eyes on her, steady and dark, waiting and watching, and her head snaps up, meeting the gaze of a tall, older man with dark hair that brushes the tops of his shoulders.

He's leaning against a gleaming green Aylesbury GT6, surrounded by people her own age, people she should feel comfortable approaching, but instead she only wants to run. He raises his drink to her, meeting her eye with a nod, and if Theda were really bad, she'd accept that invitation. She'd wiggle her ass up him, and bounce on that dick like she was at a trampoline park.

But Theda isn't bad, and she wants to go home to her garden of moonflowers and black pansies, and her bungalow in the Canyon, where coyotes lope through the neighborhood and the sky is always a dusky pink, the ambient twilight of the vast city sprawling out beyond her.

One more loop, and I'll go.

She looks at engines, but she doesn't know what she's looking at, she was never the kind of girl who got invited to go mudding or race in big trucks with boys down those hairpin curves on the back roads, where pavement meets dirt and there's nothing but sky as far as the eye can see.

She feels eyes on her again, and looks over her shoulder to meet the eyes of a tall, tattooed man, rippling with corded muscles, five o'clock shadow dark on his jaw. He winks, giving her an appreciative nod, and she feels a blush rise to her cheeks that has nothing to do with the role she's playing, but more with the kind of girl she used to be, the one she left behind long ago, before she ever dipped her toes in the ocean under the pier in Santa Monica, before she ever met a man who could make her cry.

He grins again, meeting her eyes, and Theda wonders if he can smell the glitter and greasepaint on her, if he knows that her street racer style is as real as a stage kiss. She puckers her lips, throwing a daring, sultry look over her shoulder than says, Come and get me if you want me, but before he can make his move, someone else slides up next to her, smelling of malt liquor and something unpleasantly musty and strange, as though he's been rotting away in a trailer at the edge of a poison garden for years.

Theda turns her head, even though every instinct in her body is screaming at her to run.

"You lost, pretty girl?" The man smiles at her, but his smile is more like a scream, jagged holes where some of his teeth used to be. His blue eyes are wolfish with hunger, the kind that cracks your bones and sucks the marrow dry.

Theda takes an instinctive step back, the back of her thighs hitting the fender of a nearby car. "Leave me alone." Her throat is dry, and her voice comes out stilted and small, like a baby bird's.

"I don't think so." The man cackles, lifting a strand of her hair. "I've been watching you all night. You came here alone, and no one knows you." He takes a long sniff of her hair, laughing softly to himself. "No one here will notice if I slip away with you." His spotted hand, surprisingly strong, clamps down on her wrist. In the shadows cast by the firelight, it looks as though his face is on fire. "Pretty far from Sunset Boulevard, aintcha?" That dark, hungry gaze sweeps her from head to toe. "Let me give you a ride back to your daddy, little girl. He must be worried." Goosebumps break out along her arms, and she feels as though she is alone in the crowd, drowning in the dark scent of moonflowers that seeps from his skin, the macabre gleam behind his eyes a hellish window to what awaits her. "Just like I always worry about my little girl."

"She's with me. Clear off, Tull." A man's hand slides around her waist, and Theda shudders with relief, looking up to see the tattooed man who'd winked at her earlier. Up close, he looks scary. There's a dark streak to him, a hardness that makes her shiver, glad he's on her side tonight. "You want my fist in your face, loser? Get out of here."

"You should hold onto what's yours, Salazar," the blue eyed man rasps. "Else ya might lose it someday." He fades back into the crowd, his shadow a wisp of smoke on the wall, and Theda tightens her hold on Salazar's arm for a single moment before stepping politely away.

Salazar spits on the ground in the man's direction, then turns back to Theda. Up close, he's just as impressive, easily topping six feet, with broad shoulders and skull tattoos down one arm. "You ain't in Beverly Hills no more, dollface. You okay?"

Theda surprises both of them by flinging her arms around his neck. "My hero!" She splays her fingers on his chest, looking up at him and batting her lashes. He smells like gasoline and a charge of criminal mischief.

"Your hero, huh?" Salazar rubs the back of his neck, looking dazzled. "Ain't never been called no one's hero before."

Theda strains on tip-toe, her lips slamming onto Salazar's mid-chuckle. His body responds instantly, instinctively. One hand slides around her waist, his warm fingers brushing the bare skin of her lower back between her corset and mini-skirt. He takes a hit off the joint, exhaling into her mouth, and his tongue in her mouth makes her knees go weak. As she clutches at his arms for support, he reaches down and cups the tight ass she's spent months squatting for.

"Fuck, I ain't gonna lie, as soon as I saw this thing I knew you'd be trouble." Salazar squeezes her ass again, and she slaps his hand teasingly, letting out a surprised squeal as he kisses her again, his mouth tasting of tobacco and Olde English 40.

Someone whistles. "Get it, Salazar!"

Theda pulls back to find the two of them surrounded by street racers. A tattooed woman with shoulder-length dark hair takes a step forward. "This guy botherin' you, hun?"

"I'm sorry, but do I know you?" Theda flips her hair, looking up at Salazar from the corner of her eye. She's with me. Clear off. "Wanna introduce me?"

Salazar winks at Theda. "I got a better idea." He plucks the joint from her fingers, and takes several deep puffs before dropping the roach, coughing hard. The music makes the colors of the cars pulse against the firelight. Salazar leads her to a black muscle car, painted with flames so detailed they seem to burn. "Whaddya think?"

Theda studies him. His chest is puffed out, his thumbs nocked in his belt loops, fingers pointing to the bulge in his jeans. Her eyes zero in on it, and she feels the back of her neck heat.

"Hey, Beverly Hills. Eyes up here." Salazar chuckles, patting the hood of the car lovingly. "This is a Dodge Challenger Hellcat Redeye. She's got a V-8 engine and 797 horsepower at full throttle. Want me to take you for a ride?" He winks, his fingertips brushing his crotch, and she's glad the dark can hide her furious blushing.

Theda opens her mouth to respond, but before she can get a word in, someone comes up behind her, causing Salazar to stiffen in irritation.

"I don't know, Salazar, she looks like she'd rather have a ride in my Demon." He holds out a hand. "Logan." Logan is young and handsome, with brown hair slicked back in an old-school pompadour, white wife-beater accentuating his muscles. Chazz would call it star power. Theda just calls it swagger. Logan wipes his brow, giving a wolf whistle at the sight of her outfit. "Holy fuck, you are one hot mama!"

"Back off, street rat," Salazar growls. "The lady didn't come here to be harassed by you." He rests his hand on Theda's lower back, and his touch sends flickers of heat dancing across her bare skin. "How about that ride, dollface?" The feeling of his warm breath along the shell of her ear gives her a dangerous thrill.

She turns her head, so their lips are only inches apart. "Will it start slow, or will it be fast from start to finish?"

"That hunk of junk can only go slow!" Logan crows. "Everyone on the street knows that I'm the fastest there is!"

Salazar shoots Theda a very amused sideways grin that makes her toes curl. "My ride can go as fast or as slow as you want it to, Beverly Hills. When it's all over, you'll be purring like a pussycat."

"Mmm." Theda puts an extra shimmy in her hips as she glides around the Hellcat, her fingertips caressing the cool metal. She looks back over her shoulder at Salazar, ignoring Logan, and bites her lower lip, ruby red and curling into a sly grin. Salazar's bulge is even more pronounced, and Logan is practically drooling, his jaw hanging open. "I love it when a man pays extra attention to the... ride."

Salazar leans over, tapping Logan's jaw shut. "Didn't you hear the lady? She loves it when a man makes the kitty purr."

Theda hops through the open window, into the passenger seat. "Well, aren't you gonna show me how you're the fastest man on the streets, Salazar?"

Logan is still spluttering as Salazar jumps into the driver's seat next to Theda, the engine of the Hellcat roaring to life with a purr that makes every head at the party swivel in their direction. Salazar taps on the steering wheel, raising his brows at Theda.

"I want the ride of my life," she whispers, nipping his ear.

"Then buckle up, Beverley Hills." With a howl at the moon, Salazar peels out of the lot and hits the NOS, the Hellcat melting into the night.

[remedial-wit]

28/02/19

Femslash February Day 28! - Skimmons (Bioquake)

5 + 1 - The five times they almost got together and the one time they did.

Skye’s never had a family, really. The orphanage, crappy foster homes, and a few, short-lived, nice ones certainly don’t count.

But she’s on the Bus, which is a stupid name for their home in the sky but that’s part of the charm, with Coulson, May, Ward, Fitz and Simmons. They’re playing scrabble, which is totally unfair since Fitz and Jemma have, like, triple their IQ, and the other three agents know like seven languages. Skye has the dictionary app on her phone, but she doesn’t dare use it with three spies in the room.  

“It is so a real word,” splutters Jemma, outraged — she’s currently winning, of course.

“Sure,” says Coulson. “If you say so.”

“It is.”

They’ve all got mugs of hot chocolate, even May, each personalized to their own tastes. Skye has whipped cream and marshmallows and cinnamon and basically all anything sweet that can be found in the kitchen. Her hands are closed around the warmth of it, a classic comfort. And everything is good.

Jemma falls back into the couch in frustration, suddenly resting her head on Skye’s shoulder, burying her face into the crook of her neck. Soft brown hair tickles her skin and Jemma complains lightly about “bloody Americans and Scots taking revenge on the English.” She smells faintly of peaches and some floral perfume scent and the hot chocolate on her breath.

Like an idiot, Skye immediately freezes up.

The mug falls from her fingers, and hot milk immediately seeps through her clothes to her skin.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Jemma exclaims, instantly jumping up from her position, frantic, blue paper towel from nowhere already in her hand to clean up.

“No! It’s fine, Simmons.” Skye replies quickly, shaking her head adamantly. “Don’t worry about it.”

From the opposite couch, she sees May eying the two of them warily, scrutinizing them. Skye swallows and says nothing and hopes her blush isn’t as prominent as it feels.

If Skye didn’t know better, she’d think Jemma’s cheeks are glowing a little red as well, helping her clean the hot chocolate and cream and everything else off her shirt, and she’s so close. Skye could almost kiss her.

But she won’t, obviously. And Jemma probably isn’t blushing, it’s just the lighting, and the rest of the team are literally sitting around them, Fitz is right beside them.

And Skye’s never had a proper family before. Anything more would ruin that.

    2. It’s in the aftermath of her fall, after Ward jumped out of the quinjet and rescued her and the antidote worked, that Skye is finally able to breathe. Her arms fall automatically around her, fitting, holding her close and tight.

Jemma is alright.

Jemma is alive.

Jemma trembles in her embrace, slightly, quietly shaky. And neither of them let go.

Honestly, neither of them have known each other for that long a time, a few months, really, but Skye already knows she doesn’t know what she would do if she lost Jemma — if she lost any of this newfound family, really. But especially Jemma.

How could you do this? She wants to say. How could you jump and think that it wouldn’t destroy us? How could you be so callous with your own life, that you would jump to save us?

Don’t you know that I already —

She doesn’t say it, though. Of course, she doesn’t. How can she? Not when she already knows the answer. That the same reason Skye can’t wait as someone goes out to catch her again is the same reason Jemma would do it again, and again, if presented with the same situation.

It’s almost funny how these things work. It’s part of the reason why Skye cares so much — because Jemma cares so much. And she’s so afraid to lose that.

Skye squeezes her a little, and presses a kiss into Jemma’s hair, breathing her in, and this moment and how she’s here and okay.

Don’t you know that I already can’t lose you? Don’t you know what that means? She wants to say, but she doesn’t.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she says instead.

    3. “Jems,” says Skye weakly, once she comes back out of that morphine haze. “C’mon, I need to tell you something.”

She’s lying in the med-pod on the Bus, finally conscious and no longer dying. She is much too weak to move the blankets to exam her stomach or the bullet wound, but she suspects Quinn really did a number on her, because, geez. She’s mostly numb but she still feels like shit.

The room is too bright and small and closed in. And the only things in it are the bed and all the machines and chemicals, monitoring and stabilizing her vitals. And the only source of noise in the room is the heart monitor, beeping steadily.

They could have at least given her a laptop with Netflix, or some damn hospital jelly.

“Simmons,” she says again, wincing at the way her voice croaks.

Jemma is standing at the door of the room, busying herself with prepping another syringe to either inject Skye with something else or take another blood sample. She looks up.

Finally.

Because Skye really does have something to tell her. Something important and not the usual blood-taking-vampire jokes. She’s figured, between now and the last time Doctor Jemma was here, with her almost dying and all, there’s no time like the present.

“Skye,” tuts Jemma, frowning cutely. “You really shouldn’t waste your energy like that trying to speak. You aren’t in pain are you?”

“No, but — “

“Oh good. I know you’re stable now, and you aren’t about to die, but you really mustn’t push yourself,” she continues, light but scolding, before Skye feels the needle poke into her arm, and whatever drug it is that Skye can’t pronounce, flows into her blood.

“I just wanted to tell you that I like you,” says Skye in one breath, pouting a little now.

Jemma tosses her head back and laughs. “Oh, I like you too Skye. Very much.”

“No, I mean I like-like you. Like —” and Skye has never been the most eloquent, but her tongue feels like it’s truly struggling to find the words right now. “Romantic stylez.”

Jemma hums, and shakes her head lightly, almost to herself, looking fond as she walks back to the door.

“Now, that’s just the morphine talking,” she says, before the door slides shut.

Skye suppresses a groan.

    4. SHIELD is gone.

SHIELD is gone. SHIELD is gone. SHIELD is gone.

And Skye feels like she is an agent of Nothing. Her family is separated. Ward, her mentor, was a traitor.

They are silent on the way there. Tired, exhausted, from everything. Trip takes to pacing the grounds, May stays in her pilot’s seat, Coulson just lies down and closes his eyes, but he’s not really sleeping, she thinks.

Skye sits in her bunk. Months, almost a whole years worth, of memories here. Outside in the common area, there’s so much broken glass and splintered wood and burnt parts, but in her bunk, it’s untouched. It could almost be like nothing has changed.

Except it’s too quiet outside. There’s no sound of Coulson’s cheesy music, or Fitzsimmons science-ing, or May and Ward sparring.

When they arrive, finally, at the coordinates, wherever it is Nick Fury has sent them, they all stand at the door. Tired, but ready for anything. They have to be.

The first thing she sees, standing there, is Jemma.

Her feet move before her brain even catches up, body moving on instinct, her arms finding Jemma and holding on tight and adamant that she won’t let go. Ever. And Jemma relaxes into her and grips on just as strong, just as fiercely, and knows Jemma won’t let her go either.

Almost everything is broken, but they’re okay.

Oh, she could really kiss her.

But Jemma holds herself small in her arms, and even though she seems freshly washed, she looks about ready to collapse, and there is something so delicately held about her expression. As though she’s clinging onto Skye because she might be the only thing left.

“Where’s Fitz?” Skye asks, dread welling up in her stomach, glancing over Jemma’s shoulder to the empty space behind her.

And Jemma releases a breath, heavy and shuddering and too shallow. “Alive,” she says finally. “He’s… alive.”

Jemma pulls away, but not completely, and Skye holds her hand firmly, both shaking, and says nothing.

Right now, this is enough.

     5. She doesn’t quite know what to do when Simmons comes back from HYDRA. She’s different.

Though, they all are.

And there’s no time to really do anything except hope that they make it out alive

Because suddenly, they’ve been thrust into this world where HYDRA is still at large, where it’s not aliens and a few obscure people on an Index with powers now. It’s one of them, it’s a whole community, it’s how Skye has been searching for her past, her origin for so long and in the space of a few weeks she’s met her father and mother, and lost them both too. It’s that an enemy became an ally, Raina and all her manipulations and her sacrifice, and family became the enemy. It’s that her father was mad, sick with it, but ultimately good, and that Skye’s name is really Daisy — though, she still can’t get used to it.

When Simmons comes back from HYDRA, there’s so much chaos it seems almost minute. And there’s no time to discuss anything. If it was up to Simmons, she’s sure, there would be nothing much to discuss at all.

Skye knocks on the glass before she enters the lab. It still feels a little odd, in this big open lab and this actually secret base of operations, instead of the Bus, but the air isn’t as…stilted as before. It’s less uncomfortable.

Fitzsimmons are beginning to sync back up to each other now, though, there are still some things unsaid, she can tell.

“Skye,” says Simmons, looking up with a smile that’s getting easier and easier these past few days. It still does something soft and flutter, after all this time. “Your here. I have new gauntlets for you to try out.”

“That’s great, Simmons. Thanks,” she replies, tucking her hair back behind her ear. She swallows.

Behind them, she hears Fitz slip silently out of the room, and somehow she sees Jemma breathe, and the unresolved tension in the room fall away. It’s not perfect, and Skye misses the effortless comfort that came with the Bus, back before once more. They’ve all been through so much, though, multiple perils in every variation, they’ll be okay. She has to believe it.

Jemma turns, busying herself with adjusting the gauntlets before helping to fasten them on. They fit flawlessly. Of course they do.

“Now,” says Jemma, releasing a shaky breath, fidgeting. “Do you— How would you like to test them out?”

They set it up simply, just as Jiaying showed her. There’s a glass of water on the table, and that’s all. No more no less. Jemma attaches some biomonitors to her, with her permission, and watches, fascinated, and without fear, every so often reaching up to adjust their positions.

Jemma is standing close to her, watching every part of the process intently. Skye closes her eyes and she can feel Jemma, the scholar, observing her expression, watching for any sign of pain. She’s hyperaware of the way her hand opens, stretching towards the table, shivering with the careful release of control. Jemma stands there, muttering softly to her about the vibrations of every molecule of water, the bonds within them and between them, and how Skye is affecting them and it’s incredible.

When Skye opens her eyes, exhales finally, she meets Jemma’s eyes. Neither of them are saying anything, but it feels right. It just feels right. That it’s them, that Jemma is helping her through it, this time, looking on in awe and wonder and pride. And it feels like they trust each other again.

Her eyes flicker to Jemma’s lips, kind and brave and which remind Skye of the family she hasn’t lost yet.

She’s not sure if she wants to say it now. Her throat catches the words before they pass her lips, held there for the longest while now, because she’s not sure if it’ll seal the moment or if it will shatter it.

There’s the sound of Coulson calling everyone back to the common room, and Jemma pulls her gaze away and steps back.

Skye takes a breath, looks back to the glass still there on the table, the water turned to ice, and melts it back down again. She turns and follows Jemma back out the door.

    +1. They’re sitting on the couches — Jemma bundled into a too-big hoodie with the sleeves stretched over her hands, knees pulled up to her chin, leaning gently into Daisy’s side, and Daisy has her arm tucked behind Jemma’s back and is resting her head on hers — in the common area, in the long unused shell of the Bus.

It’s been a while.

Daisy has her old, trusty laptop, from before even her SHIELD ‘consultant’ days, back from when she was with the Rising Tide, playing music softly. A playlist of hits from 2012, which was an era ago, it seems.

They’ve been coming back here more often now, just the two of them, after she’d had another sleepless night and wandered down here and found Jemma having one as well. And Jemma had told her everything. About the planet, six months alone, always running because there were creatures — monsters — and someone else, a half feral man, stranded there for fourteen years, Will Daniel, who lived amongst the corpses of his friends. She talked about HYDRA and why she left, and how Fitz loved her and she loved him but she just couldn’t…not in the way he wanted her to love him. That they’re better now, and comfortable and still best friends, of course they are, but things can’t ever be the same. And that she was sorry, sorry because she’d been afraid when Skye — Daisy — had chained and acted fearful when she should have tried to learn.

And Daisy had listened and listened and then Jemma said she wanted to listen too, and they’d stayed up all night.

That was three months ago.

There’s a hot mug of English breakfast tea on the coffee table, the steam rises gently into the air, ghostly against the dim lighting, only the blue glow of Daisy’s laptop. They’re sharing it.

The room is cold, which is partly why they’re curled around each other, a blanket over the both of them, legs tangled. The heating no longer works, or at least that’s what they presume, neither of them have actually tried it, and the lights are switched off.

“Daisy,” says Jemma, the name finally sitting comfortably on her tongue. Daisy feels her hesitate, tense up against her on the couch, and rubs little soothing circles into her back unthinkingly.

“Hmm?” she hums, closing her eyes.

Jemma sits up, just a little, and fiddles with little loose threads of the blanket. “Daisy I have something to tell you.”

Daisy pops one eye open and smiles at her, softly, serenely, because its moments like this which matter in the crazy, stupid world of theirs (and it is theirs, saving it multiple times has certain entitlements, she thinks.)

“What’s up, Jems?”

“Daisy, I like you,” and then Jemma swallows and frowns and shakes her head. “No,” and she lets out a laugh, sounding both nervous and relieved somehow. Like she’s letting something off her chest, finally. “No. I’m in love with you.”